


Everything Else is Artful

by Plastic Heart (FannibalToast)



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: And That Man Is A God, Aphrodisiacs, Bisexuality, Canon Divergence - Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Captivity, Demisexuality, Drinking to Cope, Eventual Smut, Experimenting with Aphrodisiacs, F/M, Fake Powers, Falling In Love, First time with a man, Loss of Autonomy, Mutual Pining, Mutual Using, No Graphic Non-Con Depicted, Non-Consensual Touching, Orgies, Playing with Sakaar Tropes, Profiling, Sakaar (Marvel), Slow Burn, forbidden relationship, lying, reluctant allies to friends to lovers, tagging to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28777233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannibalToast/pseuds/Plastic%20Heart
Summary: Sakaar is well-acquainted with chaos.First there’s the lost mortal woman who gambles her life on deception—her only shield against the indulgences of the Grandmaster’s palace.Then there’s the actual God of Lies, whose reign as Odin comes to an abrupt end when his magic is bound in a spell gone wrong.Stranded together on the unruly garbage planet, they quickly discover that the lies they tell the Grandmaster are just as dangerous as the ones they tell each other. When it comes to undermining the mad ruler and keeping their stories straight, it’s best not to let strategy fall victim to emotion.After all, trust and temptation are luxuries neither of them can afford.[Updates every weekend.]
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), One-Sided Grandmaster/OFC, mentioned OFC/OFC
Comments: 18
Kudos: 75





	1. Just Another Orgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Sakaar, pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we begin, this is a gentle reminder to mind the tags. No graphic non-con will appear in this story, but there will be implied/referenced/peripheral non-con elements. These chapters will be tagged individually
> 
> TW for this chapter: Non-consensual non-sexual touching, consensual sexual content, drinking to cope

* * *

_"The most difficult performance in the world is acting naturally isn’t it? Everything else is artful.” -Angela Carter_

* * *

The orgy was in full swing, and Elle was bored. 

Her book was half-finished on her nightstand. New bath oils had been confiscated from a crashed miniature luxury cruiser the day before and now sat waiting in her room. She’d found what were probably _not_ earbuds but would sure _act_ like earbuds once she was done tinkering. She’d even pilfered a roll of something resembling electrical tape from the kitchens just that morning. She had _things_ to do. Yes, getting her participation badge at the orgy was one of them, but it was far from her favorite. 

The Grandmaster must have been bored, himself; his treasured guests were all here tonight, in a fine show of wealth and indulgence. He was never one for moderation, but the extravagance was on full display. Aerial artists undulated on scarlet ribbons; the best liquor and food was heaped on buckling, cloth-covered tables in every corner; golden trays of aphrodisiacs, various toys and accoutrements, mood enhancers, and the jet-fuel that served as amphetamines were always within arm’s reach. And there were several arms, reaching constantly. 

The host of the evening was occupying himself with a four-armed, jade-skinned beauty strapped to the massive St. Andrew’s cross in the center of the room, something similar to a Wartenburg wheel in one hand while the other roamed his guest freely. She seemed to be enjoying it, head tossed back and jaw slack in her pleasure. The Grandmaster looked eager, in the way he always did, but… distant. Movements not quite as precise, eyes not quite as alert. Elle made a mental note to talk to him about it later, though the idea made her grimace.

She took a quick inventory of the room. Bodies writhed and twisted together, filling the air with the slick sounds of movement, guttural moans, ravenous screeches, and cries for _more_ , always _more_. She sighed, sipping her drink. Here by the bar, she at least had solid footing. The floor was well-cushioned throughout the rest of the room, draped in rich, midnight blue fabric that reminded her of silk in some places, velvet in others. It seemed wholly impractical to her, but then again, it was designed to celebrate rather than hide the stains. The air was warm, the humidity beginning to climb. It already smelled like sex—a strangely sweet scent here, one tinted with a faint undercurrent of bitterness and… not rot. Not quite. Perhaps it was just the leftover miasma of the unfiltered air outside, or the mingling of sweat and various other fluids from so many bodies of so many beings. But the familiarity of it told Elle it was something else, something that every creature, even her, could feel for its own reasons.

 _Desperation_.

Desperate to come. To leave. To die. It didn’t matter. It all smelled the same—like something softly wasting away, not quite in full decay, but so very far from salvation. 

Or maybe she was just projecting. 

_We’re all denied something on Sakaar,_ she thought, more with resignation than bitterness. 

She sighed again as the trio closest to her found new positioning. The male, all golden, heaping muscle and wet, eager panting, rolled onto his back, bringing his beautiful, genderless partners with him. Elle caught sight of his monstrosity of a cock for just a moment before his partners descended on it, eagerly working the four short coral tongues shared between them over its considerable length and girth. They were lithe little things, rubbing and caressing each other and the male’s thighs, pausing only to exchange sloppy, breathy kisses. The male seemed enraptured. 

But not quite enough to be entirely distracted. 

He caught Elle’s gaze, eyes glassy and blown violet with lust. He scanned her body, arching to thrust further into the waiting mouths of his companions while staring openly at her breasts. Humanoid bodies were fairly common, even out here; she supposed his interest was piqued by the fact that hers was not exposed. Insinuated, surely, by the clinging layers of delicate black organza—even at his most benevolent, the Grandmaster would never allow for blatant modesty. But what her voyeur wanted, what he _truly_ wanted, was hidden. Dragging his eyes back to hers, he licked his lips and grinned, holding out a beckoning hand. 

Elle’s boredom evaporated, hardening into rigid distrust as she watched his chest heave. She drained what was left of her drink, pausing to wipe her mouth on her wrist, aware of the low, quick thrum of her pulse. She relaxed the muscles around her eyes, in her jaw, staring down at him with perfect impassivity, projecting outwardly the absolute disinterest she felt within. There was no coiling heat, no fervent wanting. There had been a flicker of it, in the earlier days when it was still new. It wasn’t unlike watching porn: stimulating as a visual, but the idea of joining them…

_God, I hate orgy days._

The male groaned out his pleasure, gesturing for her again and speaking in a language she didn’t understand. It sounded very much like a demand. 

_Sorry, buddy. I don’t take requests._

She offered a one-shouldered shrug and turned away. 

Some days it worked. Today, it didn’t.

She heard the disappointed gasps of the two lithe creatures and the heavy thump of the male getting to his feet. She quickened her pace, but not in time: his hand fell on her shoulder, spinning her until she was staring at his chest. 

Her hands went up, as did his. Where she prepared to strike, he took a step back, grinning lopsidedly. She took care to maintain eye contact—she knew all too well that wandering eyes were often mistaken for open invitations. “No, no, I apologize,” he said, switching to a language she heard as her own. His voice was a low rumble in his chest, deep and even. It was probably appealing in some circles, she thought. He rubbed the back of his neck, gesturing toward his companions. “Won’t you join us?”

 _Asking nicely? He must think I’ve already been dosed_. Her participation would have been a given, then, if not her consent.

“We know the Grandmaster requires that everyone take part. We…” He glanced back, and she saw that his lovers had risen to their knees, watching them hungrily while still exploring each other. When he turned back to Elle, his lips had parted. His voice dropped lower, becoming rough. Demanding. “We have not had one of your kind yet tonight. You look so soft...”

He stretched out to touch her, only to have his hand yanked away. 

“Hey, hey, _hey!_ Otho, pal, what is this?”

With considerable effort and two deep breaths, Elle stepped into the cool grip that rested against the small of her back. 

She took a modicum of pride in the fact that she didn’t wince. 

The Grandmaster’s arm slid up around her shoulders, pulling her close. When she was sure she wasn’t grimacing, she looked up, only to find him openly beaming at her. His eyeliner was smudged, as was the decorative blue line on his chin. His lips gleamed, no doubt a gift left over from his friend over on the cross. She forced herself to stay still. She couldn’t react. 

_Not here._

“You all right, sweetheart?” 

Elle nodded, trying to decide quickly where to put her hand. She settled on the loose fabric of his golden lapel, gripped between her thumb and forefinger, avoiding any of his skin against her own. “Just a misunderstanding.” She flashed a weak smile at her admirer, shoulders rigid to the point of pain.

The Grandmaster didn’t bother to look away as he licked his lips clean. Rather than disinterest, a thread of discomfort stitched itself through her, a taut, precise pain in her gut. He squeezed her shoulder, lowering his forehead to hers in a show of intimacy that made her palms go clammy and cold. “Not this one, Otho,” he chuckled. “If you’d like to sample a human we have some… Ah! There, over on the far left, we have a beautiful male specimen under two of our neighboring Zandaarians… Zandaroos… what have you, and by the fountain we have two lovely females who just had some Devil’s Kiss. Feel free to go, ah, introduce yourself and your friends.” 

His voice went low, taking on a possessive edge. “But this one’s off limits.”

Otho looked between them for a moment, nodding quickly before shuffling away, taking his partners with him. He’d recognized the command, and the threat hidden within it. Elle was grateful for that. She still had nightmares of the last guest who'd tried to touch her without permission; she would remember the sound of his screams for years to come. _This_ was her participation, she knew: a reason for the Grandmaster to show his power. 

All bodies were property on Sakaar, in one way or another. She was far from exempt. 

With another squeeze to her shoulder, the Grandmaster pulled away, running his palms along the exposed ridge of her collarbones. “We have a new shipment in the morning. Scrapper 142’s coming by. Meet me for breakfast?”

Elle gave him her most convincing smile. It almost felt natural, now. “Of course.” Then, reminding herself of the mental note she’d stored away earlier, steadied by the sting of alcohol in her system, she pressed her fingertips against his temple, clocking the way his eyes fluttered closed. _Too much_. She flinched away quickly. “You look distracted. Have you been sleeping?”

His smile was soft, almost what she might have considered gentle. It tore a wave of cold dread from the tip of her spine straight through to her gut. He titled his head, lips parting, and she lost herself. She jerked back, eyes wide. 

He chuckled again, gaze dropping to her lips. “My girl,” he purred. “It breaks my heart that we can’t enjoy each other, sweetheart.”

Elle forced a nod that was more or less steady. Even with so many months of practice, this parody of intimacy made her stomach clench. She swallowed around the tightness in her throat, dry and painful and filled with the taste of metal. “Maybe in another life.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes glinting in a way she couldn’t place. Her dread began to boil over into panic, her muscles straining with the instinct to run. She’d never make it to the exit if he decided to take her here. 

_Does he know?_

He blinked then, content and lazy, and the spell was broken. With a final, lingering caress down her arms and a quick kiss against each set of knuckles, the Grandmaster beckoned for Topaz, who had been scowling quietly at the entryway. “Topaz, would you see to it that Elle makes it back to her room unbothered?” He grinned. “Keep the melt stick with you, in case any of my other guests try to invite her to play. I’ll have a word with Otho later.”

Topaz smirked, falling into step behind Elle as they made their way out. The melt stick hung heavily at her side, unused for the duration of their blessedly silent trek.

* * *

Elle stood perfectly still, staring into her room without seeing it. The familiar numbness settled over her as soon as the door clicked shut, a ratty-looking hand-strung nest of wires and diodes knotted together over the knob to form a makeshift but surefire electromagnetic lock. Fatigue crowded her, the last surge of energy draining from her limbs, as if she was a faucet someone had forgotten to turn off. Her eyes were dry, grainy, like she’d been staring at something too bright for too long. She didn’t make it to the bed—she sat down heavily on the floor, pressing her forehead to her knees, inhaling until her lungs hurt. 

She held her breath. And held it. And held it, until her ears began to ring and she felt her pulse, hard and persistent, in her temples.

It was comforting in a way, her heartbeat. Her fragile, terrible, ridiculous heartbeat. Just one of the things that made her so wretchedly _human_. A rarity here, as she was so often reminded. Too breakable and weak to escape, as she’d learned on her own. 

_One more garbage being on this garbage planet._

When she finally exhaled, she let herself crumple to the floor, curling up on her side. She heard shouting and reedy peals of laughter from outside; an impressive feat, given the thickness of the glass on windows. She sighed ruefully, knowing perfectly well that the glass was meant to keep things in. The relative soundproofing was just an unexpected perk.

One she’d be glad for tonight. Exhaustion had caught up with her. It had been a short night, comparatively, but the orgies were always stressful. And the Grandmaster, well... Earning her keep was draining. 

_He does look tired,_ she mused, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. _And the party tonight was meant to impress. Wonder if company’s coming or if he’s looking to shake things up._

She thought of his Champion’s most recent match and shivered. Boredom was not a good look on her host. It made him vicious, took his usual impulsiveness and gave it will and teeth. No, she couldn't afford his boredom. Elle was all too aware of the limitations she’d imposed on herself with her creative retelling of her situation, but she needed to keep him occupied. Once his interest in her ran out…

_No, can’t think that way. I’ll get out of here before that happens. I have to keep trying._

But the thought was a bit more hollow than it used to be. A bit less sharp, taking on the dreadful, creeping weight of skepticism. Betraying a lack of faith, not in her conviction, but in her ability. And that was much, much worse. 

_No. No, I’m just tired. I’ve been at the Grandmaster’s beck and call for weeks without a break. I just need a break. Just a little one. Something to distract him for a couple days so I can recharge._

Rubbing her eyes, she dragged herself back to her feet, stripping off her dress and hanging it back in the spacious closet. Dozens of other dresses of various colors, fabrics, lengths, and translucence winked out at her. All gifts from the Grandmaster. Reminders that everything in this room, on this world, was his. 

She squared her shoulders, closing the closet door more forcefully than necessary. _No. Not everything._

Still bare, and secure in her privacy for the time being, Elle padded across her room and pulled open the ornate cabinet that served as her in-suite bar. She pawed through the bottles, grabbing one with a gold ribbon tied around the neck: her own self-administered token verifying that the drink was aphrodisiac-free. She allowed herself a heavy pour of the reddish-amber liquor, followed by an equally heavy swallow. It tasted like spiced whiskey laced with cream, with a subtle burn that sizzled genty through her chest and into her stomach, lending her a warmth she did not truly feel. It called to mind the memory of a glowing fireplace, the smell of woodsmoke, and the silver glint of fresh snow, sharp and glittering in the moonlight. 

Her heart clenched. She missed snow. She missed the fire-bright glow of the afternoon sun on autumn leaves. She missed trees and the earthy-sweet scent of apples; waffles and tacos; the holler of the mouthy bluejays that lived outside her window before… this. With each memory, each precious moment now lost, her heart gave another painful squeeze.

She sought her refuge in the dark. She turned off the lights and curled up on the windowsill, watching the city outside churn in the artificial light. Not starlight. It was never starlight here. She leaned her head against the glass to stare up at an indifferent sky. 

Instead of stars, there were doorways. That’s what the Grandmaster called them. So many doorways, and like Alice thrust into a terrible wonderland, she couldn’t reach any of them. The big fiery one on the horizon burned brightest, but there were others; burning white, cold blue, tired purple, and colors she had no name for that seemed more like texture than shades of light, blinking in and out of existence, opening and closing their unseeing eyes to the lost, hopeless creatures of Sakaar. 

Elle took a large gulp, then another, then thought _fuck it_ and drained her glass all at once. She’d hurt for it in the morning. Hell, she hurt for it now, her stomach giving a queasy clench while a mean, insistent throb drummed in her temples. But the pain came with its own bitter sort of comfort. She wanted _to want_ to cry. To scream. To rage and tear the room apart. Anything to shake away this awful, echoing emptiness inside her that was growing by the day.

_God, if I could even just masturbate and go the fuck to sleep blissed out and numb rather than trapped under this steadily creeping cold..._

But no. She wasn’t in the mood, wouldn’t be in the mood without some help. _Those_ bottles were marked with red ribbon. She’d moved them to the highest shelf of her cabinet, the one she had to stand up on her toes to reach, for nights just like this one when the loneliness and sour, stinking desperation bit down hard inside her. She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t be vulnerable here, not even with herself. 

With a shaky sigh, she scrubbed her hands across her face before pressing her cheek to the window, returning her gaze to the starless sky. The glass was cool against her bare skin, a balm against the warmth of the alcohol. She watched the doorways open and close, open and close…

Just as she felt herself beginning to drift, a doorway opened, much closer to her than any of the others. She squinted against a burst of emerald light, brilliant and searing, leaving a glittering opalescent trail in its wake. _Pretty,_ she thought hazily. There were so few pretty things on this planet, and they never lasted long. 

_Nothing good ever lasts here._

She roused just enough to shove herself off the sill and toward the laughably massive bed—clearly intended for more than just once occupant. She grumbled at the thought before plunging under the covers, the afterimage of that bright green flash still sparking when she closed her eyes. 

“Welcome to Sakaar, pretty,” she mumbled, before she fell into the deep, soft dark of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a thank you, of sorts. 
> 
> And therapy. Thanks and therapy all at once. 
> 
> The past year sucked, to put it mildly. I know it hurt a lot of us in a lot of different ways. For me, that hurt translated into depression, and for a long time I couldn’t do much of anything other than work my day job, then lay still and stare at the wall. I didn’t have my creative spark, or any spark beyond just getting through each day. 
> 
> Then, over the summer, I fell face-first into a wealth of truly amazing Loki fic, and I never quite got out. I fell hopelessly in love with the gorgeous stories, written by incredibly talented people. Immersing myself in those worlds made me feel more like myself and woke up a creativity I hadn’t felt in ages, and slowly, a world of my own started to take shape. 
> 
> I started writing this fic back in October as a place to work out some of my anxiety, depression, and feelings of isolation. Writing about Loki and Elle has been an exercise in joy, and writing about the chaos of Sakaar during the U.S. election and Covid has been deeply cathartic. Thank you, Loki writers: y’all made me laugh, made me cry, and helped me get back on my feet. 
> 
> I’m new to the Loki fandom, but I’m on tumblr under @plastic-heart of you’d like to say hi. You can also find me here on AO3 under my other pseud, FannibalToast. I hope you’ll come back to see what I have planned for this little tale. It’s been a lot of fun to write!


	2. Seance and Stagecraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep your enemies close and your attractive allies at arm’s length. That’s how the saying goes, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references from here on out to Elle’s switch being flipped. This is setting up the way I’ll describe her experience with demisexuality. It is not in reference to her bisexuality, which is not a switch to be flipped in my experience. I debated whether to use the bisexual or pansexual label, and I’m going with bi only because it’s the one I use and am most personally familiar with.

* * *

_Everyone wants to be heard_ , Elle mused. _Especially half-insane, immortal megalomaniacs who are used to being obeyed_. She reminded herself of this as she took a generous gulp of what served as the Sakaaran stand-in for a mimosa. Her head gave an answering throb. The Grandmaster was talking. Not to her yet—several guests from last night’s party were at the table with them, listening raptly to the Grandmaster’s retelling of how Scrapper 142 had brought him his Champion. He loved to tell the story when he knew she was visiting; this marked the eighth time Elle had heard it in full. 142 was probably the one thing on this god-forsaken planet he didn’t own, and he adored her for it. 

_Lucky bitch,_ Elle thought, not without a hint of fondness. 

She joined in with the chorus of laughter wrapping around the table without really hearing the joke, her own voice thin. She pulled over some pink translucent fruit—like the ghost of a watermelon cube, in taste and appearance—and a greyish-blue bun that looked like well-structured mold but tasted more or less like a stale croissant. The combined sugar and carbs, or whatever their equivalents were, would hopefully ease the worst of her hangover before it was her turn to entertain their host. She eyed the remainder of her not-mimosa, caught between the pulsing in her temples and the sudden dryness of her tongue. 

The pain won out this time. She ate quietly, letting the food do its work, when the Grandmaster gestured toward her.

“—and _then_ , on the very same night that my Champion won his first anniversary match, Scrapper 219 brought me my clairvoyant. Serendipity on full display. Remind me, sweetheart, did you see the contest that night?”

He knew perfectly well that she hadn’t, but this was part of the show. _She_ was part of the show. And so, Elle gave him a small, practiced smile as the Grandmaster’s guests turned their focus towards her. “Not that night. You brought me to the arena, oh…” She leaned her chin against her fist, appearing to mull it over. “A week later, I think.”

“And what did you think?”

_Ah, the full show then._

_Fine._

She drew her shoulders up slowly pursing her lips and closing her eyes, shifting as if she were trapped beneath the steady press of something impossible and heavy. Something no mere mortal could endure. Or so she’d have them believe. “He was...overwhelming. There was so much _rage_ crashing around him. As if he was out of control but, at the same time, in his element. He felt _free._ Maybe for the first time in his life.” She exhaled as she opened her eyes, letting her shoulders fall. “He was terrifying, but stunning in his power. He’ll only keep getting stronger. There’s so much potential still untapped.”

Some of the newer guests tittered or hummed their approval while her host leaned over to grasp her hand, petting it as one would a trapped bird. “My sensitive girl,” he cooed. 

_Sensitive, sure. Or just from the same planet as the Hulk. And maybe getting to see a copy of Bruce Banner’s psych eval didn’t hurt, either._ Her smile became genuine, just for a moment. 

If the Grandmaster had been looking at her eyes, he might have been able to tell. 

He leaned in closer, speaking just to her. “How about it? Ready to get inside me, sweetheart?”

Elle didn’t pull away, despite the unease converging in the tense space between her shoulders. The Grandmaster’s touch was an unwelcome necessity, her price of admission in the palace. 

_He can’t fuck me, so there’s this._

“Ready as ever.” Her smile felt tight and pinched as she gave his hand a clumsy, rough pat, a far cry from the confident way she’d grabbed his lapel the night before. It was so much easier a drink or two in, and she regretted not drowning herself in knockoff mimosa. 

He didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he stood, drawing her up with him. “Friends, entertain yourselves for a bit. Eat, drink, enjoy the prevention fritters there, they’re a new flavor. My clairvoyant and I will be back soon.”

Elle suppressed her sigh. _Let’s get this over with. I still haven’t finished my book._

* * *

If Elle prayed, it would be to Vanessa Ives, and if she ever made it back to earth, she was going to send Eva Green the biggest, gaudiest, most elaborate gift basket she could find. It was because of Vanessa that Elle added a little flourish with her fingertips before she took the Grandmaster’s hands. It was because of Vanessa that she knew to look up at him with a slight smirk; how she’d known to move her body when describing the Hulk’s aura, or energy, or whatever it was. It was because of Vanessa that Elle knew how to cast a spell, not of seance, but of stagecraft. And so, if there was ever to be a prayer on Elle’s lips, it would be in benediction to Vanessa Ives.

The dark hair and high cheekbones didn’t hurt, either. Elle always had appreciated the aesthetic, even when her switch wasn’t flipped. 

So, she cast. She blinked slowly in the right places as she wove her hands over his (summoning the fates to align his intentions with his needs, she’d told him), moving in a languid way that drew the Grandmaster’s attention more than she would’ve liked, had the massive golden table not stood guard between them. He was rapt, watching her face and her hands with an easy grin and hooded eyes. 

“Ready, Grandmaster?”

He licked his lips. “Always.”

He closed his eyes as she’d taught him to do and she drew her fingertips over his upturned palms, weaving across the lines there as if following a map, beginning to sway gently. Elle knew there was magic out there, spells and illusions and power she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. But there was no magic here. There was only her.

She’d seen the distraction in his eyes the night before, and now felt his fingers curling in to catch hers more eagerly than usual. 

_He’s impatient. Throwing more frequent, more lavish parties. Anxiety? No, that’s not it. He doesn’t get anxious, not like humans do. What does an immortal, undisputed ruler have in place of anxiety?_

She cracked one eye open for a moment, finding his still closed tight, brow pinched in concentration. The blue makeup on his chin was not quite as precise as usual. There was a slight waver in the line. 

_Hm._

_Distraction, definitely. And frustration._

Yes; the Grandmaster was frustrated. He was feeling inadequate somehow, and he was making up for it by putting on a hell of a show, either for himself, or for someone else.

_That makes two of us, I guess._

She hummed, suddenly sure he was looking at her. She tilted her head to the side as if listening to a voice just beyond her ability to hear—all part of the spell she crafted as carefully as a lie. The two weren’t so easy to distinguish, in her experience.

It wouldn’t be until much later that night that she’d think over her nonsense prediction, about the magic she didn’t really have, with a strange, twisting feeling in her chest. 

For now, she opened her eyes, giving the Grandmaster’s palms a gentle tap. “I’m sensing disruption,” she began, furrowing her brow. Looking strained usually served her well. “I’m sorry you’re frustrated. I can tell you’ve been working hard trying to get ready. I know it’ll help, when they arrive.”

The Grandmaster watched her face, her hands, a calculating smirk curling his lips. “When who arrives?”

Sometimes he liked the game, and sometimes he liked a test. It seemed today would be a test.

Elle closed her eyes again, taking the appropriate amount of time to calm her breathing and collect her thoughts. “Not a threat. And not the Scrappers.” She tilted her head and took a shot in the dark, one that nearly always came true on Sakaar. “A friend, I think. Company’s coming.”

The Grandmaster tossed his head back to laugh, eyes gleaming in the pleased way that told her she had done well.

“You know, when you first showed me this little… little ability of yours, I was skeptical. I’ve been around for a long time, sweetheart, but I’ve never met a human who could feel someone’s energy, or use that energy to see the future.”

_To be fair, you still haven’t._

He leaned in, eyes taking on that precise and intense focus. His gaze trailed along her upper body, studying every shadow and curve. He reached over the desk to slide his hand over hers, her limbs going rigid at the feel of his deceptively soft skin. “But you’re something special, aren’t you? You have such interesting skills, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to the day when I don’t need them anymore.”

She pulled back. Not all at once, not severely, but her body recognized the danger. Her skin prickled, palms going damp, heartbeat picking up as her instincts told her to run and made every subtle move it could to distance her from the threat. In another life, she had known how to ignore this instinct, how to push through the surge of adrenaline and keep her body still while her synapses screamed. But the dangers on Earth were not like the dangers here. She’d learned she could not ignore her instincts, nor abandon her training. She had to exist in limbo, prepared to run, but never obvious enough to draw suspicion.

It more than contributed to her alcohol intake, but it had kept her alive. 

So, she leaned away, just far enough, and lowered her eyes. Made herself small. And glanced up at him through her lashes; another trick learned from Vanessa Ives.

The Grandmaster grinned. “My shy little virgin,” he sighed. “The first chance I get—”

“Excuse me? Sir?” 

The Grandmaster groaned dramatically at the fidgeting messenger. “Come _on_ , I’m _busy,_ can’t you see I’m busy? Nothing puts me in a melt stick-y mood more than interruptions.”

The messenger—a doppelganger for the Grandmaster’s newly-melted cousin, and perhaps made a lowly messenger for this very reason—somehow tensed and wilted at the same time. “No, sir! I mean yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that there’s a… king here to see you?”

At that, Elle’s host released her hands and whirled around, face crumpling in confusion. “A what?”

“A king, sir? I understand they’re a form of ruler—“

“I know what a king is. You said there’s one _here?”_

“Yes sir. Dema– …er, asking to speak with you.”

“Oh, _is_ he?” The Grandmaster’s hands found his hips, forming what Elle had come to think of as a full-body pout. “And which Scrapper is letting this royal, ah, _vagabond_ make demands? Are the obedience disks down?” He looked to where Topaz stood in the doorway, eyes widening. _“Are_ the obedience disks down?”

Topaz grunted in the negative. 

The messenger rushed on. “He has no obedience disk, sir, and no Scrapper. He came in on his own.”

That caught the Grandmaster’s attention. He thought for a moment, running his fingers over the coif of his hair. “On his own. Now that’s interesting. Hm.” He turned back to Elle, his smile eager. “I don’t think one of your predictions has ever come to pass so quickly before, sweetheart. How interesting.”

_Interesting, right. Not dumb luck in the least._

“I think I’ll take this meeting after all. Elle, be a doll and greet 142 when she arrives, would you?”

Topaz rolled her eyes, but Elle nodded. “I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.” 

She watched the three of them leave, taking her tension with them, before falling back to her seat with a tired, undignified grunt. 

_Weird_. She’d gotten lucky with plenty of her so-called readings before, but the timing of this one was uncanny. 

_Maybe there’s some magic on my side after all_. 

She scoffed at herself, rubbing at the tight band of muscle at the base of her neck. This little charade of hers wasn’t getting any easier. Making predictions interesting enough to keep the Grandmaster’s attention, but still vague enough to apply to any situation that may pop up, was a constant guessing game, one that demanded all of her attention and acuity. She needed to be able to react and adapt, to remember what lies she’d spun and adjust them on a whim. 

She was all too aware that failure would put an end to the meager protections she’d built up for herself. Would mean the Grandmaster would touch her in the ways he wanted. The thought made her shudder.

She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that this bossy king, whoever he was, would serve as a suitable distraction for a few days. It would give her one less thing to worry about. 

“He letting you nap on the job now, is he?”

Elle startled, blinking at the smirking face peering in at her from the doorway. She found herself smirking back, waving a hand dismissively even as she rose to greet her guest. “Recovering, not napping.”

“Hungover?”

“Mm. Only a bit.” She moved to perch on the edge of the table, letting go of some of the tension resting in her shoulders, if only for a few minutes. 

Scrapper 142 chuckled as she swaggered into the room, hands on her hips. “Not that I’m one to talk, but you ought to take it easy. What I know of humans, you can’t just replace any organs you bang up.”

“You’re not wrong.”

142 hummed, glancing around the room. “He around, then?”

“Just missed him. He asked me to look for you.”

“‘Course he did. I’ve got a good haul for him today.” She sidled up beside Elle, leaning back on the table’s edge. “Not as good as the big guy, but enough to keep him entertained for a while. Should be an alright payday.” She arched an eyebrow, tilting her head just so. 

Elle nodded, retrieving from her pocket three amber gems, each about the size of a child’s knuckle, and passing them to the Scrapper, dropping them into her upturned palm before pulling her arm back to her side. 

“Who’d you lift these from?” The playful lilt in 142’s voice told Elle she'd found a good stash. 

“A nice Zandaarian throuple at one of the smaller parties.”

The Scrapper chuckled. “You have any idea what these are?”

Elle crossed her arms, leaning to look down into 142’s palm. “Shiny?”

“Wedding gems. You stole someone’s vows.” Her other eyebrow went up, lips curling into a lovely, teasing smile. “Way to go, homewrecker.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t leave your wedding gems at the bar while you’re off tag-teaming a Cyscilian.”

“No matter how pretty they are,” 142 sighed. She considered the gems for a moment, pursing her lips. “Two of these cover your backpay. What’s the third one for?”

Elle dipped her head as a sudden heat laced through her cheeks. Scrapper 142 was one of those lucky women who was beautiful no matter what she did. When she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrow that way, looking incredulous, she looked especially beautiful. 

And especially like Josie. 

They had the same bright eyes; the same perfect, soft brown skin; a cupid’s bow that drew Elle’s gaze for a touch too long. The same edge of authority that had delighted Elle to no end, once upon a time. She’d spent a long time kissing that exact look away from Josie’s face. 

Right up until she wasn’t allowed to anymore. 

Seeing the expression on 142 always twisted an odd blade of want and terror through Elle’s chest. 142 made her want to want sex, made her miss the intimacy of it, of how it was with Josie. It ignited memories of what her body could do, how it could feel, when her switch was flipped. Which made her all the more wary of 142, making sure to never touch her. Elle didn’t know 142, not really. The idea of touching her when she wasn’t Josie, wasn’t anything beyond Scrapper 142, made Elle go cool and smooth somewhere deep in her belly. Made the idea of _being_ touched unbearable. 

So Elle hid her flush and waited for it to pass, because her switch wasn’t flipped, and it would pass quickly.

When it did, she was able to give 142 a firm look, summoning a steady, official tone she hadn’t used since she was on Earth. “I need you to get me anything you can find on piloting ships.”

Now 142’s expression turned scolding, which was even more painfully familiar, but luckily, less alluring. “You’re not a pilot.”

“Not yet.”

“Look, Elle, _I’m_ a pilot, and I’m _still_ stuck on this bilgesnipe-den of a planet.”

“A what den?”

“Never mind. The point is, there’s no leaving Sakaar. You’re a good kid—“

“I’m thirty,” she snapped, immediately irritated with how immature that made her sound.

“Which is practically an infant from where I’m standing.” 142 turned, leveling her with a hard stare. “Listen to me. I’ve been here for centuries. _Centuries_. There’s no way off this rock. I’m happy to slip you supplies so you can build your little machines to keep your room safe and generally keep from going crazy here, but there’s no _leaving_. Those doorways in the sky are temporary, and more often than not, one-way. You _know_ that.” She reached to pat Elle’s shoulder, but Elle jerked away, lips pressed into a thin line. 

142 let her hand fall with a brusque sigh. “You’re just going to torture yourself if you don’t give it up.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Or get yourself in trouble. You’re lucky I’m the one who found you out roaming all those months ago, yeah? Not a lot of human sympathizers out here, Elle. Could’ve been any of the Grandmaster's rougher guests, or a Scrapper looking to get a better payday. Worse, could’ve been the man himself. He sees how eager you are to get away from him, he’s going to start looking much closer at all those pretty tales you spin for him, and nobody wants that now, do we?”

Elle ground her teeth, but nodded.

“S’what I thought. Now, I’ll tell him you greeted me. And I’ll keep this—“ she shuffled the gems in her hand, “as pre-payment for anything useful I see. But I’m not setting you up for failure, you understand? Hijacking a ship isn’t worth risking your life for. Or mine, if he finds out I helped you.”

Deep, prickling heat rushed into her neck, her cheeks, though this time it was the stain of anger, and no little amount of embarrassment at being scolded this way. She nodded again, not trusting herself to keep the petulance from her voice. 142 was an ally if nothing else. She couldn’t afford to lose that. 

“Good. You stay out of trouble, yeah? I’m here for a couple of days, but I’m training with the big guy as soon as my meeting with the Grandmaster’s done. If you think of anything _non_ -pilot related you need me to be on the lookout for, meet me at the bar.”

Then Elle was alone, still staring vacantly at the place where 142 had just stood. Her hands had curled into tight fists, but that precious barb of anger was already beginning to fade back into the increasingly familiar numbness that filled so many of her days. She tried to grasp it, to replay 142’s words in her head to stoke the flames, but it was too late. The leaden press of hopelessness crowded her again, pushing her down slowly until she was sitting on the floor. All she could do was stare. 

The Grandmaster was having a party tonight. A post-orgy wind-down, as he liked to call them, though it often took very little effort for guests to turn it into a second orgy night, minus the bells and whistles. (Unless the guests brought them from their rooms.) The orgy held no interest for her, but Elle was resolute that she would make an appearance and find herself some of the stronger liquor, the stuff that had been removed from her room when she’d been identified as human. 

If she had to be here without hope, without a plan, she could at least black out through it. 

_Maybe I can get my hands on some better magic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Thanks for reading Chapter 2! If you’re new to my writing, welcome, and thank you for stopping by and taking a chance on this little tale. And for anyone who followed me over from my other pseud, thank you, too! I know it’s sometimes tricky when writers take up a new fandom and try out a new writing style, and I appreciate you sticking with me on this :) 
> 
> Just to help set expectations, my current plan is to update this fic every weekend. Aiming for Fridays, but should the work day kick my ass a little too hard, I’ll post on Saturday mornings. 
> 
> And rest assured, we’ll finally see Loki in Chapter 3. He’s had a lot going on behind the scenes and our favorite beautiful, scowly space prince has a lot to catch us up on! Swing by my tumblr @plastic-heart for sneak peeks at upcoming chapters and for general Loki, writing, and witchy fun.


	3. A Wall of Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki, unseated King of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies, Scowler Extraordinaire, is having a terrible day. And then he goes to a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend, friends! Hope all is well. Thanks for stopping by for Chapter 3, where we finally see what Loki’s been up to :)

* * *

Loki was in no mood for any of this.

This planet. 

This meeting. 

This _abhorrent_ pink and yellow lightshow and the many, many bodies around him. 

What started as chagrin had quickly morphed into hackled rage. 

Yesterday, he was a king. The _rightful_ king. Asgard had been _fine_ under his care. More than fine. The recent successes had occurred under Odin’s guise, perhaps, but it was his planning, his intention, administration, and skill which had kept things running quite smoothly. 

Thor had no right bringing the old fool back! And what business was it of that second-rate Midgardian charlatan? Oh, he’d seen the spell coming from a galaxy away. It was not an impressive spell; no Midgardian magic would ever be impressive. But it was, in its own feeble way, unique. Unique enough that he’d cast a spell of his own on impulse, and then had _sidestepped_ the collision, and then... 

_“Brother, no!”_ Thor’s thunderous voice, whipping out at him as he fell. 

Again.

And then here he was, on this wretched nightmare of a planet. Worse than his foul mood was the fact that he had to swallow said foul mood, leaving a burning bitterness on his tongue. The severity of it, of being stuck here, stuck at this ridiculous bar, in this ridiculous room, waiting for the _ridiculous_ ruler—who had emphatically insisted they meet at sundown, which had now come and gone—weighed down on him, stinging his chest with the thorns of indignity, swelling and surging until he snarled and crushed his glass in his fist.

It was a loss of composure he should not have allowed, one that would goad him with embarrassed irritation later. 

He was not above acting on impulse. Far from it. He _was_ above acting on impulse so visibly, when he needed to keep his wits about him.

The bartender looked up, mildly concerned, and set about fixing him another drink. Loki shook the shards from his hand; at least his skin had not broken. Perhaps he was not entirely without hope.

He had to think. It was difficult with the reedy, whining music, the tacky lights, and the heaps of bodies that seemed to be shedding clothing by the moment. They were distractions, ones he could not afford. It was infuriating enough that he’d crashed on this heap of refuse in the night, had been manhandled by what laughably passed for security, asked if he was food, proved with just his bare hands that he was in fact a fighter, and once he’d made his way to the palace, had been made to wait. 

To _wait!_

While this Grandmaster had taken his _very_ grand time swaggering across this gauche chrome charade of palace to _deign_ to speak to him, as if Loki were the inconvenience rather than this grotesquery of a planet that had the _audacity_ to hurl itself into the path of his unfortunate plummet from the Bifrost…

 _Enough._ He forced himself to breathe, to unclench the muscles in his jaw and relax his shoulders. 

As irate as he was to have landed here, it was clear that he needed to endear himself to the Grandmaster. Garish as he may be, he had seemed both taken with and nonchalant towards the very abbreviated and heavily edited tale of how Loki came to be on Sakaar. And just when Loki had thought there might be a thread of similarity between them, the Grandmaster had revealed that where Loki could, when called upon, present the appearance of madness, he was a genuine madman. He’d melted that messenger for “looking at him the way Carlo did,” cackling the whole way through. Which meant that, in addition to garish, he was unhinged, and, unquestionably, in absolute control here. 

Which left Loki in a predicament, circumstances being what they were.

With a discrete flick of his wrist, he reached once more for his interdimensional pockets, searching for a blade. One of his decorative daggers, a ceremonial lancet, a well-oiled hunting knife. Any of them. 

Nothing. His hand remained empty. 

He could feel them, but he could not reach them. Something had gone wrong in the collision of his spell and that of the wizard, something that left him bound. He could not change his form, could not cast an illusion. He couldn’t even detect the flickerings of the Bifrost. 

With no Bifrost and no magic, it was with no small wave of horror that Loki had realized he was stuck here.

His strength was intact—his scuffle outside the palace and now his unmarred hand had proven that. He was unsure as to whether he was impervious to melting, but his strength had not failed him. 

But his strength was not enough, not even with centuries of training at his disposal. He could not fight his way off of a strange planet without a ship, not without making a sea of enemies. He was in unknown territory, unsure of the powers and limitations of this place. What he needed now, he realized with a fresh wave of irritation, was patience. Cunning. _A plan._

Oh yes, the wizard would pay dearly for this. Loki began to categorize the ways (metaphorical torment made physical had the correct level of flair, he felt; or perhaps he could dabble in the Midgardian plagues; or better yet, the plagues of Muspelheim) when the energy about him tensed, nearly solid enough to brush against him. 

That was something, at least. His pockets may be closed to him, but it appeared his senses were not. He could tell immediately that the woman standing next to him was hidden behind a wall of lies. 

Only a few beings, himself among them, could lie without ever distorting the energy around them. The rest, he had learned, did so with various forms and volumes of disruption.

For very poor liars, it strained as if it were muscle tension, taut, sore, and painfully obvious.

Very skilled liars could weave their tales and leave the air feeling like a brush of satin. Soft, unimposing, certainly pleasant in terms of storytelling, but still altogether untrue.

Infrequent liars sent out tremors, their deceptions turbulent from a lack of practice. 

White lies felt like cobwebs: sticky, not quite getting everywhere, but still distinct. And often, once discovered, sent their recipients into uncomfortable flailing. 

It was not uncommon for beings to lie frequently, and mortals—and this woman certainly appeared mortal—always seemed surrounded by at least a thin, hardened shell of untruth, be it due to the tedious lies they told each other _(it’s not that noticeable_ ; _it’s fine, I don’t mind taking care of it_ _)_ or themselves _(I’ll start tomorrow_ ; _I love my job)_. But the woman next to him, she lied willingly and often, and with an indisputable degree of skill. She was cloaked in them, so much so that the energy around her felt like a physical barrier. 

It was not quite uncomfortable, but it was distracting, which was precisely what he was _not_ in the mood for.

And so he ignored her, not even bothering to glare from his periphery as he reached for the opaque purple liquid that had been served up to him. He could not solve his problems in this moment, but he could perhaps take the edge off his temper.

He’d brought it halfway to his lips when the woman pressed a single finger to the rim of the glass, halting its progress. This time he did glare, even turning his head to glower at the offending digit. He knew he needed to play the role of eager guest when the Grandmaster was present, but he was not present now. And so, Loki did nothing to conceal the venom in his voice. “I assure you, whatever liquor this is, I can manage.” He flicked her hand away, sneering in distaste. 

She at least had the wherewithal to look startled before seeming to catch herself, pulling her expression into one of feigned apathy. 

_How irritating._

“Maybe,” she said, voice clipped. “But that isn’t liquor.”

“Oh?”

 _“That_ is one of the stronger aphrodisiacs on Sakaar.” She invaded his space again to tap her nail against the rim, sending a soft _clink_ into the air. _“That_ will turn you into a mindless, rutting monster for the rest of the night. It tends to take people by surprise the first time.”

She settled back on her stool, the light catching in her pinned hair, making it look darker than it probably was. The harsh lights cut severe lines beneath her cheekbones, making her look more wraith than woman. There was a strangeness about her, some clashing of adrenaline and stillness that set his teeth on edge. He knew a trapped animal when he saw one, had been one recently enough to recognize the stench of it. Unexpected was the calculation in her eyes, paired with that decidedly dishonest air about her. He tested her energy again; she was most certainly mortal. What’s more, she was _not_ lying about this. The truth of her revelation felt like a draft coming in from a very small crack beneath a door. 

How she had managed to get herself lost all the way out here was beyond him, but that was her battle to wage. He would not trifle with her or anyone else, and if she would not leave of her own accord, he would make her.

Loki rested on his elbow, lips splitting into a perfectly wicked grin. “Are you _looking_ for a mindless, rutting monster? I should think you’d have your pick of defilers here, a weak little thing like you.” His grin vanished, replaced by a frigid, deceptive calm, a veneer of ice over a roiling sea. His voice fell to a venomous growl. “But I am not among them. I have no interest in you or your games, Midgardian. I will not break you in—I will _break_ you. It would serve us both well for you to deliver your charms elsewhere, deficient as they are.”

She recoiled, and a dark sort of pleasure curled up through him like smoke. _Good_. Humans were meant to be fearful, groveling things. Let her return to her natural state and be done with it.

But she did not move away, did not turn and run. Instead, she seemed to settle, staring at him as she lifted her chin and drained the rest of her own clear beverage before motioning the bartender for another. She broke her stare only to stand and smooth her hands over the skirt of her sheer dress, then lowered her head towards him as if imparting some great secret. “My deficient charms just did you a big favor. Rut along, if you’re so inclined.”

She took a quick sip, scowling at him in farewell as she spun away from the bar. He watched her go, noting the flex of her shoulders and the tightness in her body, as if attempting to shield herself. She was rigid, head swiveling as if she did not trust anyone in the room to come near her. Indeed, she seemed more uncomfortable there in the sea of people than she had nearly sticking her hand into his drink.

_It is not my battle._

He turned his attention back to his drink, but he did not touch it. In fact, with the woman’s strange warning still in his ears, he made a note to refrain from drinking anything for the remainder of the evening, at least until he knew what was safe to ingest. 

“I see you’ve met my favorite human.”

Loki buried his grimace and made a show of slowly turning toward the voice of his host, spreading his legs a bit to emphasize his relaxed posture and offering up a wide stretch of a grin. It was time for his performance, it seemed. “Grandmaster. Wonderful to see you.” _Hours late, you impossible cretin._ “A human, you say?” It was not often that Loki chose to play vapid, but he trusted his instincts that this was the best approach.

The Grandmaster grinned, motioning for another of what Loki was (not) drinking. “Yes indeed! My Elle came to me all the way from Earth! Can’t say I’ve ever had a human with abilities before, but she is a treasure.”

 _Abilities?_

Odd. Loki had sensed no magic in the woman, no abilities of any kind, and yet the Grandmaster was telling the truth. Or what Loki approximated to be the truth; his energy felt ancient, like fine dust on an old leather-bound book. It had a strange ephemeral quality about it, but it was most certainly still the truth. He truly believed the woman was a mage of some sort.

Was Loki’s own magic truly that far removed from him? Perhaps tales of her supposed powers were but one of the many lies woven around her.

Norns help him, what kind of mess had he found himself in?

“I’m glad you stuck around,” the Grandmaster went on, quickly swallowing half his drink. “The party’s about to _really_ get started. I have some friends I’d love you to meet. They’ll get a real kick out of this whole king thing you have going on.”

“Delightful.” Loki managed to keep his grin in place, even allowing it to tinge his voice with what would be heard as enthusiasm. It was irritating, yes, but not completely without its benefits. He had been living as Odin for years now; having his own visage in place, his own voice, even if he was using it for a performance, was a relief in its own way. A strange sort of homecoming, even as he found himself ejected from his true home. 

_Though, it is not my true home, is it?_

He pushed the thought aside. He did not have time to dwell on his ancestry. Not here, and certainly not now. 

The Grandmaster blinked then, and suddenly his pupils were blown, a flush rising to his cheeks and neck. He gave Loki a crawling smile. “We can meet them now, if you’d like.”

Loki donned a flattered grin, pressing a hand to his chest and dipping his head in a show of gratitude. _Manners maketh the man, after all._

“Another night, perhaps. I would like to see my room and rest. I must make sure to be at my peak when I meet your peers, after all.”

The Grandmaster clapped him on the back, laughing a bit too loudly. “Of course, of course! We’ll get you rested for the next round of the, ah, group festivities. Well, the next _big_ round won’t be for another month, but you’re more than welcome at any of the smaller parties that’ll pop up before then. That’s just a bit of courtesy we have here: welcome at the small ones, only _expected_ at the big ones.” He winked, yet there was a glint in his eye which told Loki that the expectation was not up for negotiation.

His shoulders pulled together in a painful knot. _This is not acceptable._

If group coupling was the way of things here, so be it, but he would _not_ be commanded, nor forced to acquiesce against his will. He would be patient, would determine a plan for escape, but he would die before he surrendered his body or mind. 

_Never again._

The Grandmaster did not seem to note Loki’s careful silence and went on. “Take the night to get your bearings. When you’re ready, one of the servants will see you to your room. Make yourself at home here. See the sights, enjoy the other guests. I’ll bring you to see my Champion in the arena for the next match.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Oh, and ah, Loki. Loke.” He slid a hand up Loki’s arm, coming to rest at the base of his neck. His eyes took on a manic gleam. “You’re a fresh set of eyes here, something that’s always helpful. If you see anyone playing a little too nice with my human, let me know, hm?” 

_A warning, masquerading as a request._

“Ah. Are there snakes in your garden hunting forbidden fruit?”

Loki caught sight of the human woman as she skirted the edge of the room, rubbing tiredly at her eyes as she moved toward an exit. The Grandmaster watched her with open hunger, tongue darting to wet his lip. 

“No fruit’s forbidden on Sakaar, my friend, but there is a line. I have plans for that one, so I have to insist that my other guests wait their turn. The other humans I have here are painfully average, but you’re welcome to them, if that’s your thing.”

Loki did not bother to hide his grimace. “I can assure you, they are most certainly _not_ my thing.”

* * *

Back in her room, head swimming as much as she’d wanted but more than she needed, Elle paced, thumbnail chewed down to the quick. 

Loki was here.

_Loki!_

_That asshole!_

She’d been trying to help him! Despite every shred of instinct, she’d reached out, had stopped him from drinking the Devil’s Kiss, and had probably kept him out of the Grandmaster’s hands for the night. And what did she get in return?

 _“I will not break you in. I will_ break _you.”_

She should have known better. Now she was all anxiety and bunched muscles, the angry shuddering of her pulse and the burn of adrenaline. That’s what she got for trying to help Loki of Asgard: threats and a stomach ache. What good would any of that do?

Several thoughts crowded her at once. 

First was a memory. Standing with her classmates in the lounge, swapping thesis edits. Turning to watch as the television along the far wall was tuned to the news, showing New York City in a haze of smoke and rubble. Taking Josie’s hand and feeling like it was the only anchor keeping her from drifting away as footage of debris and flames and _creatures_ flooded the screen. Above it all, a man with a rush of raven hair and a crown of golden horns. Albany mourned with their neighbors, grieving both in sincerity and solidarity for the loved ones who lived and worked downstate. It wasn’t their house that had suffered, but it was still their home, and they shared in the shock and rage of that day and in the months and years to come. 

Second was knowledge. Elle should be petrified. And she was; her hand was still trembling from when she’d impulsively reached out to stop him from taking a drink. Her cheeks still burned from his harsh words, the cutting blade of his voice, so much sharper in person. She knew who Loki was, and dangerous was the least of it. She knew, deep in her marrow, that she should stay as far away from him as possible—he was one more problem she didn’t need, a threat in every way. He could kill her. Reveal her. Gather up all the lies she set out for herself here, the ones that protected her, and reduce them to ash.

But third, bright and demanding, was instinct: an intuition planted as deep in her bones as the knowledge that she needed to stay away from him. One that rang through her with clear and absolute certainty, echoing through her with a resolution she could not deny. 

_Loki’s my ticket home_. 

Dangerous as he was, Loki knew magic. _Real_ magic, not the facade she’d thrown together out of desperation. And he was a god, actual living royalty, and he had skills, strength, and access she didn’t. As a man and as a mage, he could open a lot of doors she couldn’t. 

Even the ones in the sky above Sakaar.

She just needed to get him to do it. Asshole status aside, she had to try.

She squared her shoulders, moving quickly over to her nightstand and drawing out the little plastic ID badge. A relic now. A reminder of who she’d been. Of who she would be again. 

_Elle Cutler  
_ _AGENT #862-B  
_ _CLEARANCE LEVEL 3  
_ _S.H.I.E.L.D._

Even agents with her clearance level knew that Loki was still considered hostile. While the kill order had been lifted, protocol required detainment—he had information S.H.I.E.L.D. desperately wanted. Elle knew she was in no position to detain him; she was desperate, not stupid. There was no way to overpower him, not here, and not alone. But, despite the memory of the destruction he’d brought down on the city, despite the danger that ran through every Asgardian cell of his body, she needed him.

_Fuck._

Backing away from the bed, she moved to the vanity, dropping to open the bottom drawer. Her room, as all rooms were, had been supplied with an array of ropes, silk ties, blindfolds, leather straps, and a selection of vibrating and penetrating toys, some that would accommodate a human and some that absolutely would not. She dug through the items she’d stashed away, shoving it all to the side to glare down at the one thing in the drawer she wanted. 

The Chitauri weapon. 

She scowled at it, at its cracked power cell, at the empty lines of energy tubing that felt so much like cold flesh. It was useless now, had been dark and silent since the day it brought her here. 

_I stole it and it stole me. How fitting._

No, she wasn’t strong enough to detain Loki, not even if the weapon was functional, or even if she knew how to fix it. And without the weapon, she couldn't go home. Even if she did find a way back to Earth, if she showed up empty-handed, Director Fury would throw her in a cell and she’d never see daylight again.

But.

If she returned it with Loki…

Her pulse thrummed in her temples, teeth sinking into her lip. If Loki brought her back to Earth, she could give S.H.I.E.L.D the weapon. Could beg for forgiveness, and in exchange, deliver their favorite enemy and explain that it was all just a massive misunderstanding. 

She almost laughed at how deceptively easy it sounded. 

God help her, did this mean she had to trick him? There was no way he’d help a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, no matter how low she was on the ladder. And certainly not if he knew she meant to turn him in. 

Was it even possible to keep something from him? 

She turned her badge over in her hands, bringing her sore thumb back to her mouth. 

_What if it wasn’t a lie? What if it was just... obfuscation?_

It was risky. Incredibly risky. _Lying to the God of Lies? Do I officially have a death wish?_

Swallowing hard, she slid the ID in alongside the weapon, burying them both under the party favors of Sakaar and nudging the drawer shut. 

She would worry about the obligations and repercussions of Agent #862-B when Loki got her back to Earth. 

And he _would_ get her back to Earth. 

She just had to figure out how. 

When she tossed her dress back into the closet and fell naked and free into bed, she thought about magic, about predictions and circumstance. About lies and liars, and about power being more effort than it was worth. 

About what she would need to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve only seen a few episodes of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., enough to know a few characters, but not enough to remember clearance levels, so I’m making some things up to suit my own purposes. 
> 
> Also, if you’ve seen my other pseud, you know I’m also a Hannibal fan :) Bonus points to whoever spots the Hannibal reference in this chapter (and future ones, because let’s be honest, I have to sneak some of that pretty dialogue in somewhere!). Thanks for reading!


	4. Pressure Points

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki connects some dots. Elle would like to punch him.

* * *

Loki hadn’t slept. He had too much to think over, too many plots to untangle before he could begin to weave some of his own. He’d spent a great deal of the night trying to access his pockets. He’d made attempts in both his Asgardian and Jotunn forms, and all he had managed to conjure was a greasy headache and dry eyes.

He growled out his frustration, scrubbing his hands over his face. He could _feel_ it! His own magic, hovering just out of reach, yet he could not summon it. As the night wore on, his rage toward the wizard’s little stunt had given way to a genuine knot of concern, tight and hard in his chest. He had stopped contemplating revenge just as the twin suns began to blur the dark horizon, casting bright, watery light about the room. He would reclaim his magic in due time; now, his focus must turn toward escape.

 _And self preservation_ , he thought with a scowl. He would not become the plaything of the Grandmaster, though if last night had been any indication, there would be a multitude of pitfalls to lead him in that direction. He thought of his near-encounter with the purple beverage, frown deepening. He would need to get his bearings quickly. 

The Grandmaster’s mortal had known what it was, had acted quickly to stop him. If a weak little thing like her could survive on this planet, surely it would prove easier for him. 

He pondered his options while scanning his surroundings. His chambers were fairly large by non-Asgardian standards, more length than width, mostly gold with accents of black and indigo. A decently-sized bed sprawled against the far wall, along with a dresser, small vanity, and a chrome door leading into the bathroom. There was a large rounded window over the bed, revealing streets already beginning to teem with moving bodies, crowded carts, and refuse, some of it actual trash and some of it merely the supplies that the people here lived off of. A holographic divider, more of that same shimmering gold and indigo, separated the bedroom space from a living area. Two dark leather sofas faced each other there, flanked by bookshelves filled with an assortment of alien reading material and foreign gadgets, and to the right, a massive in-suite bar, made from a dark wood with gold woodgrain sparking through. 

Better than he was anticipating, save for the wall-to-wall mirrors adorning his ceiling. He glared up at himself. A few above the bed or along the wall he could understand, but the _entire_ ceiling? It truly was excessive, and entirely overzealous. And most offensive, each one captured the rising Sakaaran suns, pitching the light back at him in an over-abundant heralding of that cutting daylight. 

A quiet knock on the door roused him from his tempestuousness. It took him a moment to cross the length of the room and greet a small orange-skinned servant who waited with downcast eyes. “The Grandmaster requests your presence for this morning’s meal.”

He nodded, already dressed in the blue leathers left for him. Stepping into the hall, he watched the servant stop at the door next to his, separated by the more or less respectable distance similar to what was granted to those staying in posh Midgardian hotels. It at least gave an illusion of personal space and freedom, false though it was.

The servant relayed the same message to his neighbor, who was also already dressed and prepared. He was surprised to see the Grandmaster’s mortal step into the hall, looking only slightly more rested than he felt. When she saw him, her mouth fell into a small O of surprise, giving him the strange impression that this was his first true glimpse of her.

She looked different in the daylight. Without the garish lights of the—orgy room? velvet lounge? There had been some unnecessarily decorative name for it that he’d instantly dismissed—she seemed more corporeal, but decidedly more displaced. Her hair, lighter and more of a mousy red in the light, had been pinned back neatly, more plain than any of the other styles he’d seen so far. She almost certainly bruised easily, with the sort of light, blushing skin that no doubt revealed every moment of clumsiness. There was a depth about her dark eyes that went beyond a lack of sleep and into, if he were to venture a guess, lack of security. Hunted, he supposed. Yes, she looked _hunted_. 

How long had she been here? She seemed in decent condition, considering the rough edges he’d seen of the planet. Although, he had caught sight of three other mortals the night before who seemed… Well, they seemed to be enjoying themselves in the moment, but they also had a steady stream of that purple liquor poured into them. She alone seemed exempt. 

_Why would that be?_

He saw her, with her wide, dark eyes and that tiny O of surprise on her lips, for only a moment before a mask slid into place. She seemed to pull inward, eyes going hollow and features pulling into a smooth nonchalance, dispassionate save for a lingering tightness around her jaw. She nodded stiffly in place of a greeting. “Did the Grandmaster keep you up late?” 

Indignance pricked at him. Was this her way of asking if he had allowed the Grandmaster to indulge in his company? Loki bristled and drew himself up. He had allowed himself to slip out of character in public last night. He could not do so again. Though still mindful of who might be listening, his tone was barbed. “The Grandmaster is a most benevolent host. It was unfortunate that I needed to retire early.”

She pursed her lips, turning to fall into step beside him as the servant led them down the long, winding hallway. Her dress—conservative judging from what he’d seen the night before, in that it came up to her collar bones and was only sheer around her midriff and legs—looked and moved like poured wine, brushing against his leg every fourth step or so. He made a perfunctory, irritated sound. Did she not know who he was? It rankled him further, imagining her ignorance. Or worse, senselessness.

“So no purple stuff for you, then?” she murmured under her breath. 

_Ah, so this is the purpose for her proximity._ He exhaled sharply through his nose, glaring at her from his periphery. “Is this what he keeps you for? To ensure participation? What a good _pet_ you are for your master.”

Oh, she scowled at that, an angry red flush creeping up her neck. “If you’d participated,” she said, consonants sharp, “it might not be safe to be near you.” She glanced up, her stare just as hard as his own. 

His words from the night before hung between them, an unspoken threat. Or perhaps it was a promise. _I will not break you in; I will break you._

He looked away with a quiet, bitter laugh. “I assure you, it is never safe to be around me.” 

It must have been difficult for her to stiffen further. As it was, her body was pulled tight as the strings of a harp, all but singing with tension. Yet there was a shift in her body language, some subtle ripple that lowered her chin and made her draw her lower lip between her teeth. It was as if he’d caught her off-guard, somehow. As if she needed to recalibrate.

_Strange._

“The purple stuff is different,” she continued after a moment’s hesitation. “It’s unpredictable, makes everyone rough after a while. I’m not sure what it would do to an Asgardian. You should be careful.”

She did know him, then. Good. He did not have to waste his time wondering. And yet she continued to linger, dress still brushing his calf. He glanced at her once more, arching a brow derisively. “Your efforts at camaraderie are wasted on me, mortal.”

She went quiet, eyes locked resolutely ahead, and Loki was grateful for the silence. He was not yet sure what kind of ruse this was, but he would not fall for it. The wall of lies around her was the most obvious testament to her mendacity, but it was far from the only one. She was dressed as a favored member of the court, and her exemption from the festivities was clearly a gift from the Grandmaster. No one had interfered with her that he had seen, and if his own chambers were any indication, she was kept quite comfortable. She must have done something to endear herself to the mad ruler, and until he knew what that was, she was not to be trusted.

Although, she had not lied about the purple beverage. Her claim that it was unpredictable, that she was unsure of the effect it would have on him, was another draft of truth through her wall. Why tell him at all? Why help him? 

What was she playing at?

He glanced at her, reading the tension in her jaw, how it traveled into her neck and shoulders. She did not carry her lies well. She may have told them well, to any but him, but he read them on her as clearly as if they had been scrawled there with ink. He shook his head, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. 

He would not concern himself with the behavior of a lost mortal woman. Mere instances of truth were not enough to sway him, and they were certainly not proof that she wasn’t playing some game on behalf of her master. In his experience, be it because of loyalty or fear, pets were pets for a reason. 

He had no desire to be bitten. 

The servant led them down another corridor, the floor sloping gently downward into a massive open room filled with blossoming sunlight, glinting chrome furniture, and tables laden with food and drink. There were perhaps two dozen guests already seated, sending a jovial (and abrasive) din into the air. At the head of the table sat the Grandmaster, grinning and far too animated for so early in the day; the seats on either side of him were empty. The mortal woman pulled ahead to take her seat to the right. Loki took the left and slid into character, just in time for the Grandmaster to clap him on the shoulder. 

“Loki, my friend! Good morning, good morning, so pleased you could join me today. And you escorted my Elle, good morning, sweetheart.” When he leaned in to kiss her cheek, Loki saw her jaw tighten again, though her smile remained serene. “I’m glad you’re both here. I’m meeting with more Scrappers today, exciting stuff all around. Loki, you’re a king, you’ll like this. You can help me evaluate the new recruits. Sweetheart, since your prediction turned out so well yesterday, I’ll definitely need another reading. Let’s keep those fates on their toes, shall we?” 

The Grandmaster leaned over to pour a thin peach-colored drink for the three of them. Loki watched the woman; she didn’t hesitate to reach for it, and so neither did he. 

_Hm. Perhaps she’ll prove useful, after all._

“And then,” the Grandmaster continued, “my kingly friend, after that, I’ll show you the grounds, maybe check out the training arena. And you _have_ to meet some of my friends and associates. Quite a few inquiring minds asked about you after you disappeared last night.”

_Of course they did._

“And I look forward to meeting all of your guests in due time.” He flashed a flirtatious smile that the Grandmaster rather seemed to enjoy. “And to learning more about the… glorious planet of Sakaar.”

The mortal stared at him over the rim of her glass, but said nothing. 

“The planet of Sakaar wants to know about _you_. Look at you, you’ve got the tall, dark, and handsome thing down pat. Remind me where you fell from again?”

Loki pressed his tongue to the backs of his teeth. _Fell_. As if he hadn’t been cast out by Thor and that ridiculous wizard. He _had_ told the Grandmaster some of this in their initial meeting. To be dismissed so blatantly, relegated to mundane, useless trivia worth forgetting… 

Perhaps it was for the best that he could not access his daggers. 

“Asgard,” he said at last, keeping his voice low. “I am from Asgard.”

“Right, right.” The man leaned in closer, eyes gleaming. “So, since you’re here for the foreseeable… ever… it’s important for me to know you’ll be comfortable here. You know how it goes, being royalty and all. You’ve been around, I’d imagine?” His smile became lascivious. “This isn’t your first time _off planet_?”

A few of the other guests tittered, which only served to make the Grandmaster’s expression turn sharp and calculating. A challenge, then. A shallow, grasping one, but Loki could easily weather a challenge. He leaned in on his elbow, leaving very little space between them, all easy smiles and bright eyes. “I’ve enjoyed my share of travels,” he grinned, earning an interested hum from his host. “The realm of Vanaheim was the most welcoming to me as I recall, so eager to introduce their lords and ladies and everyone in between. They are ever so enthusiastic about their travelers, and their appetites are exquisitely voracious. Alfheim, on the other hand, offered the most beauty, which is an undeniable pleasure in and of itself.”

That earned a rumble of amused murmurs from the Grandmaster and the companions who were listening in. Stealing a glance at the mortal, Loki looked over just in time to see her complete a blunt roll of her eyes, more boredom than irritation, as she reached for some horrendous grey-blue pastry. 

_Boredom?_

Loki inspired a great many emotions from mortals. Boredom was not one of them. 

His focus was recaptured by the Grandmaster’s fingers on his wrist. “And what’s the verdict? What wins out between enthusiasm and beauty?”

Loki flashed his most conspiratorial grin, leaning in ever further. “One should always endeavor to have both. Don’t you agree?”

The Grandmaster rumbled low in his throat, sliding back just enough to take the mortal woman’s hand and pull it to the tabletop. She did not look bored now. No, now she blinked a touch too rapidly, mouth turned down at the corners.

“What do you think, Elle?” The Grandmaster’s scrutinous stare moved off of Loki, though his fingers remained clasped around his wrist. “You’ve spent so much time reading other people. Enthusiasm or beauty? What’s the deciding factor?”

Loki expected an embarrassed flush, a stutter, a quick aversion of her eyes. Something in line with the tension that sung through her all morning. He was to see none of those: instead, she went still, taking a breath as she leaned in to rest her chin in the palm of her free hand, appearing to give it genuine thought. Though her eyes remained distant, she fixed their host with a thin smile.

_An act._

That was unexpected. 

_What need would a favored pet have of such a performance?_

“Neither.”

“Neither?” The Grandmaster grinned. “What could be better than enthusiasm and beauty when traveling?”

“Niche interests.” Her tone was cool, nearly academic. She seemed to have disengaged, somehow, as if she had taken something from inside herself and set it out of reach. Energy twisted around her; not exactly lies, but certainly a performance of honesty. 

_Interesting_. 

She continued. “Enthusiasm only gets you so far without skill. Beauty’s a nice bonus, but it fades from everything after a while. But niche interests.” She lifted one shoulder, sitting up to take a drink. “Find someone who likes the same unconventional things you do and you’re set. Don’t you think?”

The Grandmaster lost himself in laughter, releasing Loki in favor of capturing the woman’s hand in both of his own. “So you _were_ watching me with Rezh over on the cross. My sweet girl, you’ll drive me to my breaking point yet.” He shook his head, rounding back to Loki. “What do you think of _that_ , my friend?”

_Two can give a performance, little mortal._

“The notion has merit.” Loki offered her the same sharp smile he’d given the Grandmaster. She did not return it; did not so much as blink. “It is not entirely surprising, considering the abundance of exceptionally niche interests found on Midgard. I can only hope some of them have found their way to Sakaar. Or that Sakaar has enough of its own to offer to put this theory to the test.” 

“Niche interests abound here, as I’m sure you’ll discover.” The Grandmaster titled his head. “Now, Midgard, what’s that one?”

“I believe you know it as Earth.”

* * *

_Don’t talk about Earth._

Elle pressed her sore thumb against her thigh, focusing on the dull flare of pain. The Grandmaster’s typical opening line of questioning was to be expected, as was Loki’s ease at playing along. Or maybe not playing, but that wasn’t her business. That was the nature of things here on Sakaar; it was all indulgence, all the time; sex, food, alcohol—if it wasn’t in excess, it wasn’t enough. It was in Loki’s best interest to answer, and if he could add some lurid details, the more endeared the Grandmaster would be. 

_But don’t bring up Earth_. _Or me._

Elle was rigid, more so than she should have been. She’d let Loki get to her. Before they even sat down, he’d gotten to her. Calling her a _pet_ , the _Grandmaster’s_ pet. It went straight to that hidden place in her chest she’d tried to ignore. The place that still felt pain.

 _I’m_ not _his. I’m not anyone’s._

This is what she got for trying to help. More insults, and now the Grandmaster knew she knew what kinks were. God _damn_ it. Why had she opened her mouth? 

_Just had to surprise them, didn’t I. Had to show him… them… I don’t belong to the Grandmaster, that my thoughts and opinions are still mine, even if the rest of me isn’t. A-plus timing on that one, Elle._

She wanted to slap herself. And Loki. She definitely wanted to slap Loki. 

And now, after baiting her, he was going to badmouth Earth. 

“Oh, you’ve been to Earth!” The Grandmaster pulled her close, making her drink slosh out over her fingers. She shook them off with a grimace, which the Grandmaster didn’t seem to notice, but Loki did. His amused smile made her clench her jaw tightly enough that she almost expected her teeth to shatter. 

“That’s right, I told you Elle was from Earth! I’d always heard it was kind of boring. I had no idea that humans had evolved to have various, ah, powers—” he waggled his fingers, “and abilities and whatnot. Have you seen other humans with powers?”

_Shit._

Loki’s bright gaze shifted to her and Elle’s stomach plummeted. _He knows_.

He looked infuriatingly casual as he leaned his temple against his fist. “Oh yes, mortals are learning a _wealth_ of new tricks these days. Their technology is crude, but remarkably effective in allowing them to adapt. Their _sorcery_ , if it can truly be called such, is cruder still, diluted and childish, but they do have it. Tell me, what is it your pet can do?”

_Call me pet one more time, you cocky—_

“My little clairvoyant is certainly something. Good at feelings, auras and whatnot, with little peeks into the future. It’s the most marvelous trick. She’s helped me out with sorting the Scrappers and some of our recruits, the little lamb.”

Loki seemed to give it real thought, making her stomach tighten. “It’s been ages since I’ve encountered a true clairvoyant. Tell me, mortal, were you born with this gift, or was it bestowed upon you?”

 _He’s playing with me._ Elle took a sip of her drink, running through the tidy list of not-quite-facts she’d given the Grandmaster. “It manifested when I was little and grew naturally as I got older. I made it up as I went.”

“Oh, I imagine you did.”

Elle bristled, fear and indignation making her tongue go sour. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Grandmaster beat her to it. “And these other humans with powers, do they all have the same limitation?”

_Shit!_

To her horror, Loki’s face lit up, looking genuinely interested rather than just trying to get a rise out of her. She could all but see the cogs turning in his head.

“Human limitations are as unique as their powers, in my experience. Which specific limitation does your clairvoyant have?”

_Fuck!_

The Grandmaster patted her gently, acting for all the world as if she’d been burdened with some great affliction. “The curse of purity. Isn’t it terrible?” 

The painful knot in her stomach went into freefall, a lead weight plummeting through her, ears beginning to ring. The look on Loki’s face was mortifying: like a wolf that had just scented blood on the snow. 

“She tells me clairvoyants lose their power if they engage in any of the more carnal pleasures. It’s been torture, ya know?” The Grandmaster’s grip suddenly went tight, eyes taking on a suspecting glint that chilled the blood in her veins. “Have you ever heard of such a thing, Loki of Asgard? Powers tied to virginity?”

This was it. She was done. Truly, unimaginably done.

* * *

This was truly, unexpectedly delightful.

This was leverage. _This_ he could work with. 

Loki could not have begun to imagine what a complex web of lies the mortal had spun for herself. She knew that he knew: he saw the panic in her eyes as she glanced at the exit. Surely she didn’t think she could run? _He_ couldn’t even run, and he was far more equipped to run than she. _The foolish little mortal._

A decidedly _powerless_ foolish little mortal. There wasn’t a speck of magic or clairvoyance to be found on her.

And she was certainly no virgin, based on the way the energy around her tensed when the Grandmaster mentioned her purity. It was a clever ploy, he would give her that, surely one that kept her safe from the already-bold hands of their host. It certainly explained her exemption from the festivities.

Perhaps he had been too hasty in dismissing her. Between her tension and her own little performance, perhaps she desired an escape as much as he did. Despite her comfortable room and luxurious clothing, her behavior told him that she was not content here. That discontent could be leveraged, used to secure his own safety until he was able to commandeer a ship and locate a suitable portal to take him home. He was not about to bring human baggage back on his quest to reclaim Asgard, and he would not return to Midgard under any circumstances. 

But she did not need to know that. 

_She_ just needed to make herself useful until he could make his escape. Help him get his bearings until he reclaimed his magic. He could not trust her, indeed had no desire to. She was never leaving Sakaar, whether she knew it or not, but he knew the value of a promise. Of an alliance. And promises with something as weak and breakable as a mortal were meant to be weak and breakable themselves, were they not? 

Oh yes, he could most certainly work with this.

Loki took a long pull from his glass, watching from his periphery as the Grandmaster’s pet finally broke her veneer of calm, shifting in her seat. Yes, he could work with this just fine.

He set his drink aside, nodding gravely. “I’m afraid I have, my friend. I have found it to be quite common for the most delicate abilities to be tied to one’s virtue. With a gift as fragile and valuable as pure clairvoyance, it is only natural that any carnal delights should upset her natural stasis. Too much feeling, you know.”

Loki was not entirely unamused by the surprised, disbelieving scowl that pinched the mortal’s face. Let her frown her heart away. She was going to help get him off this planet, one way or another, no matter what faces she made. 

Finally the Grandmaster released the tension from the room with a dramatic and disappointed sigh. “Good to know, I suppose. Well, Elle may not be able to enjoy all of our festivities, but you, my delectable traveler, _you_ will fit in delightfully at the next orgy. It’s still about a month out, but it’ll be worth the wait.”

Loki kept his smile in place and buried his chagrin. He would _not_ be coerced. His gaze flickered back to the woman, not needing his magic to read the waves of discomfort whipping around her. He would have to forge their alliance quickly. The sooner he got off this planet, the better. 

“But for the time being…” The Grandmaster stood, taking Elle’s and Loki’s hands in each of his. “I’m dying to see her read you.”

Loki watched her face twitch, mask slipping for only the span of a breath as her eyes flooded with something like horror. For just a moment, one tiny, precipitous moment, he felt for her. To be paraded about like this, to be not her own… He remembered what it was to not belong to himself. Remembered it keenly enough to pity her. Just for a moment.

 _Her battles are her own_. _Her life is here, until it ends. That is the way of it._

When she caught him looking, that mask of hers slid back into place, and she had the audacity huff as she pushed her way past both men into the adjoining room. 

Loki suppressed a smirk. 

Perhaps this would be a bit of fun after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a little extra time and energy last night and got through this chapter's edits in record time :) We're on a roll! Elle wants to use Loki, Loki wants to use Elle, and both of them need to figure out their next steps while keeping up appearances for the Grandmaster. Alliances are tricky when you're stranded on a trash planet, huh?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Can't wait to show you what comes next!


	5. Some Honest Double-Dealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just two liars forming an uneasy alliance. No big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend, friends! Sorry I missed posting last night--the end of the work day rolled around and I was beat. But here we are, a sunny, snowy Saturday, diving in to see how Elle and Loki are doing. My antagonistic little loves, getting on each other's nerves <3 I love them so. I hope you do, too!
> 
> No chapter warnings this week. Enjoy!

* * *

Elle wouldn’t drop her gaze. She wanted to—god, she _really_ wanted to. But if she did, Loki would win, and she’d be damned if she let that happen.

The Grandmaster, taken as he was with Elle’s “ability,” had insisted the Asgardian get his reading first. Elle had never felt embarrassed performing for the Grandmaster. Of the way he looked at her, sure, but never of the way she acted. The little hand flourishes, the changes to her body language, the reverence she paid to power she didn’t truly have… it was all supposed to keep her safe. It _had_ kept her safe. 

Until now. 

Every move she made was jerky and unsure. Loki watched her with unforgiving scrutiny, eyebrows shooting up at her gestures, incredulity and mockery shining in his eyes as she offered her hands. She hated the way her fingers became clumsy, how she scraped him with her nails instead of sliding her fingers smoothly over his. 

She’d seen her fair share of naked bodies in her time on Sakaar, her own included, thanks to the many, many mirrored surfaces. But this? The look on Loki’s face as she stumbled over what should have been a basic, if fake, aura reading? Never had she felt so inadequate, or so bare. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m sensing—”

The Grandmaster tsked. “Don’t be stingy, sweetheart, tell him the whole thing.”

“Yes, _sweetheart_.” Loki smirked. “Give me the whole show.”

She wanted to die. Or kill him.

Maybe both.

It took a tremendous amount of effort not to speak through clenched teeth. “Close your eyes.” Spoken in a flat, emotionless command. Loki obeyed with a derisive snicker that did nothing to ease the tension in her jaw. 

“Focus on your intentions. Manifest your energy.” _God, has this ever sounded so fake?_ “Think of your path, what led you here, where you want to go. Think about what steps you have to take to get to the next leg of your journey.” She let a few moments pass in silence. 

She watched Loki’s features go smooth. The smug curl of his mouth evened out, the indent between his brows disappearing. He looked… different, not at all how she’d seen him on TV or in any of the precious few case files she had access to. He was _calm_. His time on Earth had not been kind to him, it seemed. Here, he looked tired but not worn, cheekbones sharp without being skeletal, the kind of pale that reminded her of marble instead of the walking dead. His hair was longer now, fuller and cleaner-looking. He looked neither haggard nor insane, which would have been a comfort, had it been anyone else. 

She pushed the thought away, refocusing on his hands. Healthier or not, he was still Loki, and she had a job to do. “Good.” She barely grazed him, tracing the lines of his palms and beginning to sway. She caught him opening his eyes, just long enough to roll them when he saw her movements. It sent a lash of embarrassed anger through her chest, and she prayed to Vanessa Ives that whatever version of the devil Sakaar had, it would unhinge its jaws and end this misery. 

Vanessa, for all her glory, did not answer.

Elle swallowed back her chagrin, inhaling once, and again, before tapping his hands and pulling away. 

The Grandmaster leaned in, grinning excitedly. “What do you see, sweetheart?”

She hated the knowing smirk that crawled over Loki’s face. Hated it, but looked closely nonetheless. Looked at the slight shadowing beneath his eyes, contrasting with the casual ease of his perfect posture. 

_He has experience in tense situations. Obviously. But he still lost some sleep._

At the upward tilt of his chin, the way his gaze held firm.

_Confident. Regal. A god who the messenger introduced as a king._

At the cool meadow green of his eyes, the thin ring of gold around his pupil, and the challenge that rested here. 

_So used to being in control._

_Yet here he is on Sakaar, just like the rest of us._

“And? What prophecy have you revealed, mortal?”

“You’re lost, your majesty,” she said. She would not have thought Loki, regal as he was, was capable of snorting, but alas. It made her words come out sharper than she intended: “You’re lost, and no one is looking for you.”

His eyes went hard at that, a visible tick marring his brow. Emboldened, she let her eyes flutter closed—it was not just Loki she was performing for, after all. 

“I sense your strength, and your rage. Your journey caught you off guard. You’re worried, your majesty.” When she opened her eyes, he was glaring fully, lips pressed into a thin, harsh line. “It won’t feel this way forever.”

Finally, Elle allowed herself to pull back completely. _For a shot in the dark, that seems to have landed. Maybe a little too well._

The Grandmaster clapped Loki on the shoulder. The impact sounded like it should have hurt one of them. “You hear that, my friend! A happy ending! You _won’t_ feel this way forever, especially once I introduce you to my friends. Oh, they’re gonna _love_ you! I was just telling Rezh last night—”

He trailed off into a groan as Topaz darkened the doorway. “Don’t tell me there’s a disruption. I haven’t even had my reading yet!”

“There’s been a disruption." There was something to be said for the soldier's impeccably dry tone, Elle had to admit. “There’s a problem in the arena.”

The Grandmaster’s eyes went wide. “With my Champion?”

“With the Champion’s next competitors. Say they’re not going to fight.”

“Well _obviously_ they’re gonna fight! That’s their whole schtick here, to fight!”

“A couple of them got their hands on unapproved weapons.”

“For the love of… Fine, fine, fine.” Patting his hair, the Grandmaster held out a hand for Elle. She stood and went to him, unable to look at anything but the floor. Performing her obedience in front of Loki, the word _pet_ still burning in her ears, sent a flare of shame through her, prickling and acidic. 

“Sweetheart, why don’t you head back to your room for a bit? You know how rowdy the arena athletes can get. Loki, be a gem and see to it that she makes it back.”

The Grandmaster was gone before either of them could answer, leaving them in a taut, straining sort of silence, tension heavy between them. God, she hated it. With a sigh and a determined effort _not_ to look at Loki, Elle nodded her head toward the hallway. He followed.

He had the decency to keep quiet until they got back. She intended to duck inside without saying goodbye, but he pushed his way into her room— _her room!_ —without so much as a look in her direction.

“What the hell are you doing? Get out!” 

“No. We have much to discuss, little mortal.”

She swung the door mostly shut, lowering her voice to a hiss. “We have _nothing_ to talk about. Get out, go be an ass in your own room.” 

He whirled around, hands on his hips. “Such _venom_. You remain so still in front of your master, and yet here you become a hissing, temperamental creature. Is this how you speak to your benefactor?”

“My _benefactor?"_

“Yes, _pet_.” He made a show of gazing around, having the nerve to look somehow both bored and pleased with himself. “I have protected the secret of your power—or lack thereof—have I not? In fact, it seems you have a wealth of secrets from your master. Taking you under my protection, _lying_ for you, makes me your benefactor. One to whom you are now indebted.”

Elle nearly choked on her indignation, shoving the door in place and slapping her nest of wires over the knob. If anyone caught her with a guest in her room, she was finished, her virgin act obliterated. “Try _burden_ , your majesty.” 

He took a step closer, backing Elle against the door. “A burden, am I?”

“Yes, a burden! Taking care of my own safety is hard enough, and now you’re invading my room, getting all judgy and parading yourself around—”

“You are _barely_ securing your own wellbeing, mortal, and I would not bother passing judgment were you not such a painfully uninspiring actress. The Grandmaster must be truly desperate to bed you to allow himself to be blinded by such a flimsy charade. And _endearing_ oneself to a host—”

She threw her hands up as if to shove him, stopping herself just before making contact. His eyes narrowed, as if daring her to do it. She balled her hands into fists and growled. “You have no idea what it’s like here! He’s _not_ a host! He’s a _tyrant!_ Nothing you do here exists in a vacuum! He listens to everything you say, watches everything you do, and it’s _all_ an open invitation. Endearing yourself to him is as dangerous as defying him. Once he decides he wants you, there’s no saying no, you understand? There’s nothing on this planet he doesn’t take once he decides he wants it.”

“You are the exception, it seems.” Loki’s voice went low and cold, the sharpness of it making Elle push back harder against the door. He froze her beneath a withering scowl, cold and imposing as an eclipse. “You’ve taken quite a risk to surround yourself with such lies, and now I am complicit in your fraud. What will happen if he finds out. Hm?”

Elle’s jaw dropped. How dare he? How _dare_ he act like a savior when he was the one who interfered in the first place? He had at least a foot of height to his advantage and his eyes burned with an intensity that lashed at her like fire, but Elle straightened her spine and lifted her chin. Mimicking his icy tone, she shot back, “No worse than what would happen if he found out I stopped you from drinking the Devil’s Kiss and kept you away from him last night.”

He pulled back just a fraction, but it felt to Elle as if a gulf had opened between them. He tilted his head, upper body shifting in a way that reminded her of a jungle cat on the hunt. Something stole over his face, some knowing glint in his eyes that sliced into the hollow of her belly, sharp and precise as a blade. “Then it seems we are each other’s mutual prisoners in deceit. I have lied for you, and you have undermined him for me.” 

Something in his stare changed, then. It lost the edge of challenge and gained a hardened gleam of invitation that was no less chilling. His grin, bright and menacing, dragged a shiver up through each knob of her spine. “Perhaps we can leverage this unwanted bond into something beneficial.”

_Wait… what?_

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but that definitely wasn’t it. It took her a moment to stop gaping at him and respond. “Beneficial how?”

“To get off this planet, of course. I cannot imagine you wish to remain here any more than I. Since we find ourselves bound to each other by threat of severe and catastrophic revelation, let us work together to make an escape.”

This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to help get her off Sakaar? 

_Is this a trick?_

“So, what? I’ll keep my mouth shut and you’ll keep your mouth shut, and you’ll take me back to Earth?”

He made a gruff noise in his throat, something between impatience and irritation. “I would move stars and cosmos alike to get off this refuse heap and back to Asgard, and if your own return to Midgard coincides with that, so be it.”

“You can’t just…” she gestured vaguely in the space between them. “Magic yourself away?”

He dipped his head, a dangerous, guarded look clouding his features. “I haven’t the time to explain the intricacies of magic to you, mortal, but that is not how it works. I cannot simply remove myself from this disgusting place, and so, as distasteful as I find it, I am in need of your assistance. As much as you are in need of mine.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “Besides, the portal I fell through has vanished, so I can only assume yours is long gone. We’ll need to identify one that can take us away from here. Between your familiarity with Sakaar and my own superior knowledge and skills, we’ll need to work together to come up with some sort of plan.”

 _Don’t trust him_.

The small voice, a relic from her training, drove up into her mind, a frantic, flashing warning light. She needed to stay away from him. She knew that, just as surely as she knew she was her only way home. He was the God of Lies, the Demon of New York. Everything she’d been told to fear. And yet...

 _I don’t have a choice._

She swallowed hard, taking a steadying breath. “We… trust each other, then?”

“Norns, no.” He scowled, pulling back as if the thought offended him. “We share a common goal, that is the extent of it. You will teach me about Sakaar, and I will help you with your little charade. We will keep each other alive and out of the Grandmaster’s clutches until we can make our escape and let this ridiculous planet fade into memory.” 

Elle was surprised at her own relief, the cool spill of it through her veins. They were a means to an end, the both of them. Having it acknowledged felt sturdy, finite, like washing ashore after treading water for so long. It wasn’t ideal, or even really safe ( _or sane,_ she chided herself), but it was real. It was something solid in a world of vapor, and she would cling to it for as long as she could. Would use it to drag herself back to reality, where she belonged.

“I can work with that.” 

“Do we have an accord, then?”

Elle took a breath, biting her lip before extending her hand a bit too forcefully. It was awkward, overeager. But right now, so was she.

Loki stared down at her hand for a moment, grimacing before offering his own, and with a brusque shake, their deal was sealed.

_Here’s hoping we don’t kill each other._

He released her and stepped back, lifting his chin as he sauntered away. He made his way to one of the two bronze and blue leather sofas in her room, where he didn’t so much sit as sprawl, motioning for her to take the seat across from him. “Good. Now. If we are to proceed, I should be apprised of the depths of your duplicity.” 

Noting his posture, she sat sideways on her own sofa, back to the armrest, adjusting her dress over her outstretched legs. She didn’t truly feel the casual confidence she projected, but she couldn’t let him know that. _You won’t intimidate me, Loki of Asgard. Jerk._

“Why’s that?”

“So that I may both maintain the story you’ve already created for yourself and know where to add useful embellishments. You’ve told the Grandmaster you’re a clairvoyant. What have you told him this ability entails?” There was no mockery in his voice this time; simply a focused curiosity. 

“Mostly what he said at breakfast and what you already saw. I told him I can read auras, feel other people’s energy. I’ll give vague hints at the future, but nothing I can’t back out of if I need to.”

He rolled his eyes. 

_Oh good, there’s the mockery_. “I just pay attention. It’s nothing you can’t pick up from body language and little details.” She wasn’t thrilled that she failed to keep the defensiveness out of her voice, that it was so obvious that he was still getting under her skin. She made herself take a breath before continuing. “Facial expressions and tone tell you everything you need to know, usually.”

Loki hummed at that, as if in agreement. “That is how you read me, as well.” Said almost more to himself than to her. 

“Right. Just look for signs of fatigue or tension and extrapolate on that. It’s easier here, since nobody ends up on Sakaar by choice. Stick to that general theme and it’s easy to do a basic aura reading.”

“And what of that preposterous hand-holding and body-swaying?”

Elle held back an irritated huff, choosing instead to gesture around at the room. “It’s pretty clear that the Grandmaster likes a bit of a show. I just gave him what he wanted.”

Loki’s eyes took on a strange light, then, something intense and knowing that sent her buzzing with a thick sense of dread. “And just what do you know of _me_ to have created such an interesting fabrication?” 

_Oh no._ The edge in his voice confirmed she’d definitely struck a nerve earlier. She needed to be careful. For all the lies she’d spun, for all the things she was keeping hidden, she decided that half of the truth would serve her better than an outright lie. “I’m from New York.” 

That seemed to catch him off guard. His eyes widened for a moment before some practiced nonchalance fell over them, going distant somehow. Still, some of the venom out had drained from his voice when he spoke. “New York. I see.”

_That, and even in a mostly digital world, you have an entire section of locked filing cabinets dedicated to you at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ._

“Not the city. I lived upstate, in Albany. Tony Stark still did a lot of damage control out by us, telling us… well, little bits about you, that you were serving a prison sentence on Asgard. I just assumed that’s where you’d been, and like I said, nobody chooses to end up on Sakaar. Plus, the messenger introduced you as a king yesterday, so I just paired those bits of information together and went from there.”

Loki shook his head, a humorless smirk curling over his lips. “Simple fool.” It wasn’t clear if he meant her, the messenger, or Tony Stark, but out of her own sense of self preservation, Elle didn’t ask him to elaborate. He mulled over what she’d said for a moment before finally stretching, rolling his neck and unbunching his shoulders. He craned his head up, up, and paused. 

_He sure makes a lot of exasperated faces for the Demon of New York._

He extended one long, elegant forefinger, drawing her attention upwards. She looked between the ceiling and the almost pouting look on his face, consternation creasing the skin between his brows.

“Your ceiling has no mirrors.” Said with such severity, such accusatory petulance. 

Elle couldn’t help it: she snorted. “What?”

He leaned forward, looking just as a slighted prince would: narrowed eyes, mouth agape, as if her question was an affront to him, his mother, and his entire kingdom. “My room’s entire ceiling is covered from wall to wall in mirrors. It’s horrendously distracting and makes the sunrise a vicious, blinding thing. Why has the Grandmaster not bothered you with them?” 

It was hard to bite back her smirk, but she managed. “Oh, he did. They’re a standard feature in most of the rooms here.” That did nothing to soothe away his frown, so Elle gestured back toward the door. “See those wires on the doorknob? That disrupts the magnetic fields in here. Keeps the door locked and the mirrors off.”

“They turn off?”

“Sure. The mirrors here aren’t glass, it’s just electromagnetic manipulation. Lock up the field, shut down the mirror. I found some spare parts lying around and—”

 _Uh oh._ He was giving her that look again. The one from breakfast. The one that told her he was paying very close attention to what she was saying. “ _What?_ Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Loki pushed back in his seat, spreading his arms wide across the top of the sofa. He regarded her with an odd combination of amusement and suspicion. “You’ve told your master you are a clairvoyant. You take the idea of magic and turn it into a spectacle for his amusement. You recoil from his touch, yet subject yourself to it. You feign obedience while dismantling his rooms, warn his other guests, or at least me, of his advances, and you have the knowledge to both build little technological contraptions for yourself and the wherewithal to hide them.”

She blinked. “What’s your point?”

“You are no mage, and certainly no virgin.”

Her mouth fell agape, eyes widening. “That’s none of your business!”

Loki tipped his head back, the quick percussion of his laughter puncturing the quiet of her room. “Perhaps not. But my point, mortal, is that you have created a truly intricate series of lies for yourself. You may think yourself creative, but you are hopelessly foolish if you think that alone will protect you. Particularly if you insist on withholding yet more information from me.”

His accusation shot a harsh sting of fear needling up her spine, in no small part because he was right. 

_Shit. How much does he know? How much does he suspect?_

She shoved her unease behind defiance, hardening her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His head dipped, every edge of him becoming somehow sharper, more threatening. A primal light crept into his eyes, one that she remembered from the footage from the city. He brought his arms down, leaning forward so slowly and with such purpose that her limbs went heavy, tatters of breath catching in her lungs. “It would serve you well to remember this, mortal: I can tell when you are lying. You may think yourself clever, but do not mistake the Grandmaster’s desire to bed you with true ignorance on his part, and do not think for a moment that I share his folly. Whatever game you’re playing, you will lose without my help.”

“I’m not—”

“What did I just say to you?”

Elle clenched her jaw, nails pressing sharp half-moon divots into her palms. 

His stare didn’t waver, intense enough to burn.“I will keep your secrets, and you will keep mine, but you will not lie to me again. Is that understood?”

She caught her tongue between her teeth. _This_ was the Loki she expected. Demanding. Rough. Threatening. _This_ was what his case files told her he was. Not an ally, and not someone she could trust. 

_I don’t have to trust him to use him._

She nodded, not allowing herself to speak.

“Good. Now, I’m sure the Grandmaster will be back to collect us shortly, and to your earlier point, it would not do to have him find me in his pet’s room.”

She twisted toward him suddenly, teeth bared in a snarl as she leaned in close, so close she felt his breath against her cheeks. “Stop calling me that!”

He went very still, gaze fixed on her own, the gold ring in his eyes refracting. Then he blinked, scoffing and pushing her away as he stood to stalk across her room, pausing where the living space became the bedroom to knock on the wall there. 

She huffed as she moved behind him, arms crossed. “What are you doing _now?"_

Another quick tap caused a thin ledge to pop out of the wall, one Loki made quick work of prying out and presenting to her. 

It was a collapsible door handle. 

_No. No, no, no!_

With a grin and a sharp elbow to the doorframe, the hidden door popped open, swinging inward to reveal his own room, gold, black, and indigo where hers was bronze and blue. She gaped, her anger cooling, quickly replaced by shock. “This… what… did you put this here?”

“This was already here. I suspected that a planet with frequent orgies and mirrored ceilings might also have a way to adjoin rooms. I was correct, as I so often am. And now, we can speak freely without worrying about my getting caught in your chambers.”

He ignored her strangled cry of indignance, brushing past her with an exaggerated bow. “I will see you again shortly, mortal.”

Elle stared, mouth agape, as he closed the door behind him.


	6. No Honor Amongst Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki does not care for being at the mercy of a mortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend, friends! Hope everyone is well. I'm really excited about this chapter--it contains one of the very first scenes that got me started on this fic. Loki is always so cool and collected, and I always wanted to play with the idea of him being a bit off his game, not because he isn't capable, but because he has a million things to figure out and has to strategize. This went through sooo many revisions, and I'm pleased with where it landed :) 
> 
> There's a lot of ground to cover, but we're moving my two favorite prickly pears toward some tough conversations to get those embers of a slow-burn glowing ;) I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: An aphrodisiac is offered with ill-intent, but nothing bad comes of it. Very light discussion of kinks.

* * *

Loki paced slowly, thumb and forefinger pressed tightly to his lips. The mortal was still lying. He could feel that wall of untruth fluctuating around her. “I’m from New York,” she’d said, when he’d asked how she’d read him. There was more to it than that; he could sense it. Her energy had shifted, going soft and pliant. It was not the truth, not flowing and free, nor was it a lie. It was incomplete, somehow. A deception by way of concealment. He had warned her to cease her mendacity, but how was he to compel her to obey? 

Without his magic, he was left with corporal punishment—a boundary he was wary to cross, as she was neither a combatant nor a consenting lover. Although, with her boldness, that brash streak that had come to life in the confines of her room, pushing her so close in her anger…

_No. Even brash humans do not require so firm a hand. And this deceitful woman surely has not earned the privilege._

He could employ threats… which, of course, he could not follow through on without crossing said boundary. 

He could tell her he would leave her on Sakaar if she did not cooperate. He would leave her anyway, but the _hope_ that he would not might do away with this deceit. Unfortunately, there were always risks that came with mingling truth and lies so closely. He was adept at navigating them, of course, but he was usually in full possession of his faculties when he needed to dance along that edge.

_Or…_

He huffed, already irritated, both with himself and with her for making him consider it. 

He was not called Silvertongue for nothing. If she could not be coerced, perhaps she could be coaxed. He stopped his pacing, hands on his hips, glowering up at his reflection. 

_Befriending a lost mortal should not be on my agenda. It’s poor planning, and foolish besides._

Though _befriending_ was a strong word for it. He would not get to _know_ the woman or any such nonsense. He would simply learn to read her well enough to parse out what information was useful. Every half-truth was as helpful to him as an outright lie, after all. It tainted the context and put him at risk, jeopardizing his chances of getting back to Asgard and reclaiming his throne. 

Well. Loki was nothing if not resourceful, and she was a resource. A rather clever one, he was loath to admit. He would have to inspect that contraption on her door. She could build rudimentary machines from spare parts, and seemed to have a knack for reading body language. Even his. And she’d known about his imprisonment on Asgard, though her proclamation that she’d received said information from Tony Stark was another coagulated half-truth. 

And yet, she approached him at the bar with almost no hesitation, despite having lived in New York ( _that_ was true, at the very least). She’d warned him away from that beverage. Even knowing who he was, what he’d done, she’d helped him. Even before they made their pact, she’d helped him. 

_Why?_

The question tore a harsh, angry sound from his throat. It would not have been from the goodness of her heart, would it? 

_Of course it wouldn’t. Mortals are not in the habit of forgiving their monsters. They’re no so different from Asgardians that way._

The thought sank an odd, chilled feeling into his chest. A small, hollow divot that, in another life, may have taken the shape of disappointment. He shook his head, forcing it away. 

If it was not kindness, then perhaps she had seen in him what he had recognized in her: _leverage._ This betrayed a specific familiarity with him, did it not? More than a typical mortal might have had. 

_Moderately clever. Reads body language well enough. Quick to action when it comes to concealing the truth, and more than a passing knowledge of my whereabouts. Familiar enough with who I am to approach me with no hesitation._

Loki went still, limbs suddenly rigid. That hollow in his chest flooded, first with the acidic burn of shock, and then with the creeping flame of rage. “You little wretch.”

_Traits I have seen twice before on Midgard._

All shards of the much larger truth she was desperately trying to conceal, a truth that snapped into precise, undeniable, infuriating focus: she was under the tutelage of Nick Fury or the Black Widow. He could not be certain of which, not yet, but he knew it must be one of them. 

Which meant she was not only using him as leverage, was no simple bystander trying to escape. She was an opponent. 

_This_ _will_ not _do._

“You little _wretch_. You think yourself clever, do you?”

How had it taken him so long to see it? He would blame it on the distracting environment and the fact that he was still adjusting to having his magic bound. Had he been truly paying attention, he would have sensed it the moment she sat down beside him behind her shield of lies.

Resuming his pacing, more aggressively than before, he set his mind to the tasks ahead. He must temper his rage, gleaning as much information as quickly as possible. He’d thought her foolish before. This was far worse; now, he knew she was foolish enough to think she had some modicum of control.

This, he decided, would be the rope with which she hung herself. 

* * *

It took a surprising amount of time for the Grandmaster to return. Several hours, in fact. No matter. It gave Loki enough time to soothe his anger, at least for the moment. He knew what he was up against, now, and could react accordingly. 

And oh, _he would_. He would bide his time, glean information for the time being. But he would not lose sight of what the mortal really was: an agent. A _threat._

When the Grandmaster did arrive, his little pet was already beside him. Loki gave the two of them a dazzling grin, but his eyes must have given him away; the woman pulled back slightly, chin dipping just a fraction, tempering that reckless hubris of hers with caution. Oh yes, she was most certainly one of the henchmen that stomped around either Stark’s tower or Fury’s compound. It took every muscle in his jaw not to twist his grin into a sneer. _Let us see what you are made of, then, mortal, if you so wish to play._

The Grandmaster rattled off his apologies. “Such a pain, having to keep the peace,” he sighed, taking the mortal and Loki each by the arm. “But, heavy is the hand that holds the melt stick, am I right?” He found his own joke uproariously amusing. The woman seemed to pale, but produced a tense smile as the Grandmaster led them through the palace and into what might have been a greenhouse, though it was unlike any of the enclosed gardens on Asgard.

It was false, first and foremost. Like the dining hall, they were led into a room encased in glass, tinted a light emerald hue. Loki supposed it was to make the plants look livelier. Many of them appeared to be a strange hybrid of synthetic and organic, with rigid, dark matte leaves, and blooms that were too bright to have been natural. Neon pinks and yellows, florid violets and piercing, electric blues surrounded them, weighing heavily on atrophied branches that were still brown, but peeling, as if they had been painted. Flower boxes lined the walls, showcasing sharp, spindly green-grey vines that undulated gently, reaching for passersby with needled tips. Others had squat, shining flowers that were clearly just layers of reflective garbage stuck together. The air was stale, tasting more of dust than of plantlife, a testament to the strangeness of the foliage.

And in the center, long rows of tables, heavy with food and drink that, like breakfast, were hardly identifiable. Loki wondered briefly if there was anything to do on Sakaar but eat, sleep, and rut. 

The Grandmaster spun away suddenly, dropping Loki’s and the woman’s arms. “I have someone I’d like you to meet. Here, get yourself something to eat and I’ll be right back.”

Loki gazed down at the tables, trying to remember if the delicacies on Alfheim had looked _quite_ like this. Were the rock-looking things safe to eat? Which of the flowing fountains of wine was safe to drink from? His lips curled into a grimace. He did not care for this.

“You look overwhelmed.”

 _Ugh_ , the woman, the lying little… 

_Information. What I need now is I need information._

“I am sure I do not.”

“You do. Luckily for you, your majesty, we made a deal. Here.” She brushed by, clipping his elbow with her own. He waited until she was looking to brush his sleeve, mouth pursed in a petulant grimace. 

“The horns should've clued me in that you were the dramatic type,” she mumbled, motioning for him to take a plate. 

“You know _nothing_ of me, mortal.” He waited until she was _not_ looking to pick one up. 

“I know you’ll eat if you want to keep this new look of yours.”

“Excuse me?”

She was already moving away from him, scanning the tables carefully. Her mask was firmly back in place, eyes quick and somehow void. Whatever he had seen of her in her room did not exist here, her frustration with him seeming to have vanished. It was jarring, off-putting, how efficiently she had shut herself off. Though her words were her own, her tone had changed, becoming somehow flat and guarded, her voice dropping low. _Demure_ , even. Certainly not what he had seen in her room. It was as if she was acutely aware of who may hear her. Of who might be listening.

_Hm. Agent or no, it is not entirely unlike living a double life as myself and as Odin. Though, as king, I was gradually able to act more freely over time. Perhaps the Grandmaster’s eyes and ears reach farther than I anticipated._

“Last time I saw you, you looked half dead. On TV, I mean. You looked… well, you had a look about you that I see more and more in myself the longer I’m here, honestly.”

“I looked like I was being kept by a tyrant?”

“Maybe.”

Loki froze. Did she know about Thanos? He hadn’t thought Midgard knew anything of the Mad Titan. 

Did S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers know of his imprisonment?

Loki’s pulse quickened, hard and terrible in his throat

_Does Thor?_

Did his brother finally understand what had transpired? Had he known, when he brought Odin back to Asgard?

Did he wish for Thor to know? Which was worse: to be seen as a malevolent would-be conqueror, or to be acknowledged as the weapon the malevolent conqueror used, toyed with, and brought to the brink of oblivion? No longer a man, but an _object_ , something base and low.

“You looked rough,” she continued, interrupting his thoughts as she dropped two hexagonal pastries, filled with pinkish meat, onto his plate and two onto hers. “I was just trying to say you look better now. And if you want to keep looking better, you need to start getting used to the food.”

 _Truth_. It was fresh, nearly sweet around her, like early autumn air. It was not entirely unpleasant. Certainly better than that hard, tasteless wall she kept up. 

He shook his head. “What’s this, then?” He raised the pastries to eye-level, glaring at them suspiciously. 

“Meat pie. Don’t ask what the meat is. It’s not made from guests, so there’s that at least, but what animals there are on this planet are pretty gross. But it’s seasoned well enough and it’s safe to eat, that’s the important thing.” She motioned for him to follow her, scooping up a large spoonful of tiny black berries that seemed to glitter in the tinted light. “Ever have pomegranates on Earth? This is like a cross between pomegranate seeds and caviar. So… kinda salty? There’s this pink fruit, too, that kind of looks like pale watermelon. I didn’t really eat much when I first got here, but I started feeling better once I was eating this and the pink melon, so I think there’s some kind of equivalent of vitamins—”

She paused, head whipping to look at him fully. Was there a hint of concern in her eyes? “You can eat human food, right? I mean, this isn’t human food, but I’m recommending this based off what I can eat. Was anything on Earth poisonous to you? ”

His lips quirked, though there was far more condescension in it than mirth. “Oh? Concerned for my safety, are you?”

To his surprise, she gave him a look that fell somewhere between embarrassment and guilt, pulling her lower lip into her mouth as she glanced away. “I know what the wrong food can do to someone here. I don’t wish that on anybody.”

She roused quickly, nodding towards a line of fountains and lowered her voice further, so low that he had to lean in slightly to hear, which only irritated him further. “Peach is fine. No aphrodisiacs and no alcohol. The stuff that looks like wine is wine, no aphrodisiacs. Avoid the blue, purple, viscous, and shimmery ones.”

“Is there no water?”

“No water, except for in the showers and baths.”

_A lie, stiff and brittle._

“You’re lying. _Again_.” 

“Fine, there’s water, but it’s hard to come by.”

_Truth. Mostly. Cool, but more… sluggish._

“...Just remember that most things on Sakaar end up getting recycled, so only drink what’s served as a drink. Stick to the peach and you won’t get hurt.”

 _Truth._ Crisp, cool, honeyed truth. He hated it. What right had she to try to sympathize with him? Did she think she could outplay him at his own game?

His laugh was sharp and, even to his own ears, unkind. “Such sympathy you have for the monster who destroyed your home, _pet_.”

She went unnaturally still, then, knuckles flashing white even as a deep scarlet crept up her neck and into the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes fell and moved away from him stiffly. She did not raise her hands to him, did not even earn so much as a glare. 

_She’s more upset about the moniker than she is about the reference to her home._

Such pride she had, for a mortal.

He waited for her to snap back at him, to meet his anger with her own. For her voice to sharpen as it had in her room when he’d called himself her benefactor. It left him coiled, tense, anticipating an attack, befitting the opponent he now knew her to be.

It did not come. 

Why did it not come?

She all but tossed a disgusting bun at him, the color and consistency of mold. “A kind of bread,” she explained, voice now positively empty. “And these,” she gestured vaguely at a bowl of oval orange… something, in a kind of syrup. They had the texture of fish. She let herself trail off into a hollow sigh. “You know what, whatever. You figure it out.”

She moved away again, quicker than before, making every effort not to look at him. He was pleased. 

Yes. Surely he was. 

And yet he had the sudden urge to stop her. _Ridiculous!_ How dare she think she could manipulate him with sullenness?

And how dare she look so offended?

 _“Mortal.”_ His voice was jagged, his anger a biting, wretched thing clawing inside him.

She turned but did not return to his side. A few other guests had heard him, however, and looked over in interest. He had forgotten himself again. He would need to be more careful. She may be a pet, but she was not _his_ pet, and he could not admonish her publicly without risking repercussions from her master. 

He swallowed down his anger with a low growl, gesturing at the table. “What are these?” His innocent question seemed to disarm the onlookers, who went back about their business.

That earned a roll of her eyes he would dare to call impassioned, the only indication that she was not some hollow, walking doll. She came back slowly, peering down at the plate he pointed to: some kind of dessert-looking concoction, dark and moist, looking much like some sort of cake with what appeared to be a red berry spread on top. “Oh. Those are prevention fritters.”

Loki blinked. “I see. I suppose it does make sense, given that there appear to be no children on this planet.”

“Not that kind of prevention.” Her tone slipped from cold to coldly academic, if, perhaps, tinged with a hue of condescension that would have sounded at home coming from his own mouth. “Hookups are enthusiastically encouraged here. The fritters prevent infections, bugs, or skin conditions, or the transmitting of any diseases.” She took a bite of that horrendous-looking mold-bread. “No need for birth control fritters. There’s birth control in pretty much everything in the palace. Everyone’s basically sterile while they’re here.”

 _Truth_. 

And said with such dispassion. Such blatant disinterest. How was it that calling her a pet made her cheeks burn, but the sexual activities of those around her inspired such ennui?

Was this all part of her scheme, something taught to her by whoever her handlers were on Midgard? Was she trying to goad him into some sort of oafish mistake? He turned it over in his mind as he followed her to an empty table. They sat leaving one seat between them. 

_As is only proper for begrudging allies set on betraying each other._ He glanced at her from his periphery.

Her cheeks were still tinted red, a rather sullen look having taken over her features. It drew a crease between her brows, turned her mouth down at the corners. She did not look angry, as she had in her room. No, there was a heaviness about her now, in the sag of her shoulders and the dip of her chin. She seemed more… hurt. 

Surely she was not so weak as to have her feelings _hurt_ ? And by him, no less? She _was_ the Grandmaster’s property, after all. She should be used to being seen as such.

She still would not look at him. 

_Typical, unforgiving mortal._

Just as he opened his mouth to admonish her for pouting over what was, objectively, a factual statement, the Grandmaster himself took his place between them, already grinning and chattering mindlessly.

And next to Loki sat a woman of incredible beauty. A full head taller than he, she carried herself with effortless grace and dignity. A gold armband glinted on each of her four arms, two in normal placement for a humanoid, and two longer ones that extended gracefully from the backs of her shoulders. Her skin was a soft jade, complemented by a shimmering gold dress that clung to her like water, showing off every delectable curve so as to make translucence obsolete. Glossy black hair tumbled in waves down her back. Loki blinked, taking in the sight of her, of the coy smile and teasing coral pink of her tongue as it darted to wet her bottom lip. 

What a lovely distraction from the little scowling mortal currently plaguing him.

“Rezh.” She offered him her two left hands, which he took without hesitation, pressing a kiss to each set of knuckles.

“An honor. I am Loki, of Asgard.”

“So you’re the king I’ve been hearing so much about.”

“Indeed, my lady. I am humbled and enchanted to meet such a beauty.” He was pleased at the flush of darker green that stained her cheeks

Had the mortal woman made a sound?

“Grandmaster, you didn’t tell me your new friend was so delightfully charming.”

“Isn’t he just? We had the most delightful conversation…”

“About _traveling_ and _niche interests_.” Rezh laughed, a joyous, easy caress of sound. “Yes, you told me. Tell me, Loki of Asgard, are we to see any of _your_ niche interests at the festivities next month?”

It was bold of her to ask. Bold, and calculating. It was unclear if she was asking for herself or for the Grandmaster. No matter the motivation, it did not harm him to play along. “I admit, Sakaaran festivities are not as common on Asgard. Not unheard of, certainly, but not as well-enjoyed as on this planet. I had been hesitant to showcase my full array of interests so soon. Meaning no disrespect to you, Grandmaster. I only find it’s usually better to pace oneself.”

Rezh arched a brow, seductive and mischievous. “Usually?”

Loki flashed a positively sinful smile in return. “I suddenly find myself eager to indulge.”

The mortal most assuredly made a sound this time. Loki smirked, throwing a glance her way, only to find her focusing most intently on her plate. While the others seemed to be taking a leisurely approach to their meals, she was devouring hers. It reminded Loki of when he was a child, rushing through his supper in order to get back to playing outside. 

The Grandmaster didn’t seem to mind, instead fully captivated by Loki and Rezh. “My darlings, I’m so pleased you got to meet. You’ll make such a lovely pairing at the festivities.”

Rezh grinned. “Are we obligated to wait that long?”

The Grandmaster’s laugh echoed around the room. “Of course not, my dear! You can enjoy each other any time, you know that. Though, ah, you could always indulge _me_ …”

Rezh giggled, reaching out to pat Loki’s cheek with one of her longer arms. Her hand was soft and warm, her eyes alight. “Our most benevolent host is speaking of one of his own niche interests,” she explained. 

“And what would that be?”

She winked at the Grandmaster. “Voyeurism. Particularly for couples engaging in their first time together. Seeing them learn about each other…” She traced the curve of his cheekbone with her thumb. “Experiencing the energy of something untouched, raw and new and passionate.” She lowered her voice to a seductive whisper that curled around him like smoke. “I have a hunch we might excel in this area, you and I.”

 _Truth_. _Sleek, velveteen truth, laced through with want._ When was the last time someone had looked at him like this? With open, unabashed desire. Loki knew he could not trust any of the Grandmaster’s guests, especially not the ones he played with, but he _was_ enjoying this. 

Their host turned away from them to round on his little pet, voice low and rough. “I’ve developed a bit of an obsession with first times, it’s true. I just can’t help myself.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Elle,” Rezh sighed. “Especially with such _alluring_ new friends.” Loki felt her foot against his shin. “You haven’t been on Sakaar very long, have you, my king?”

“Only a few days, my dear. And you?”

“Oh, ages. I love it here. There was so much to learn of myself and the other guests. Coming here may have been an accident, but for me it was a happy one.” She was still telling the truth, he noted with a slight pang of disappointment. She did love it here. She would not be compelled to leave, then. She was dazzling, without question, but she could not be an ally if she wished to remain on Sakaar. Still, that did not mean he could not temporarily enjoy her company, flattering as it was turning out to be.

Having lost the Grandmaster’s attention, Rezh scooted ever closer to Loki, shooting a conspiratorial look at the mortal. “I’ve found that if you just accept a life of leisure and pleasure, you get on very well here. You have a look about you that tells me you’ll do just fine, my king. Just be wary of that one human, hm? The Grandmaster has told you she’s off-limits, hasn’t he? Prickly little thing, but he’s just crazy about her. There have been a couple of guests who tried to play rough without his permission, and it did _not_ end well for them. I would hate to lose you so soon after your arrival.” She emphasized her point by dragging a fingertip down his chest, pupils widening in appreciation. 

“He did, though it was hardly necessary. Our generous host and I have wildly different tastes in that regard.” She hummed her approval as Loki’s fingertips traced the smooth, soft curve of her outer thigh. “He explained the limitations of her ability. Such a shame for him to have to choose between her powers and her company.”

“I can’t say I much understand the need for reading auras. It’s enough having to sort through your own emotional mess, isn't it? And it makes him so _cranky_ that he can’t play with her. He’s terribly rough when he’s cranky, which I generally don’t mind, but there’s only so much overstimulation a girl can stand.” She winked again before picking her head up and raising her voice. “Are you sure you still need her magic, Grandmaster? Shouldn’t she be able to have fun with the rest of us?”

Their host looked over his shoulder, tossing them a bright grin. “Not quite yet. Elle’s helped me out of a bind with a few dishonest Scrappers and I’m not ready to give that up. Although, there’s a theory I’ve been meaning to test…” With a wicked glint in his eyes, he picked up a small, crystal glass filled with shimmering blue liquid, offering it to the mortal. “Does your magic intervene on your behalf, sweetheart, or just hold you back?”

Loki went still, losing his grip on Rezh’s thigh. The madman meant to test the mortal’s powers, to see if the drug in the drink would take effect or if her magic would protect her. 

She had no magic.

Nothing would protect her. 

Loki spun towards their host. “Is that wise? Clairvoyance is an incredibly delicate gift. Are you sure you wish to—”

The mortal’s hand shot out, bringing the glass to her lips and taking an even mouthful. She didn’t so much as wince as she swallowed. Loki’s eyes went wide, breath knotting painfully in his chest. _No_. No, he did not wish to see this. The result of this, of someone, even an agent, made vulnerable, made obedient and complacent against their will… he could not allow this. 

He dropped Rezh’s hands, made a move as if to stand, not entirely sure what he would do next, when the mortal unhinged her jaw in a wide, unceremonious yawn. She blinked, wiping her eyes slowly and leaning back in her seat. Loki watched, stunned, as she shrugged. There was no fervent flush in her cheeks. No lust blowing her pupils wide. A slight blue stain on her lower lip was the only indication she’d had any of the drink at all, evidence wiped away with a quick swipe of her tongue. 

She looked wholly unbothered. 

_How in the Nine did she do that?_

The Grandmaster sighed in defeat. “You’re some kind of magic, my dear.”

She gave a tight-lipped smile, still carefully avoiding Loki’s gaze. “Guess I’m not meant for niche interests, Grandmaster.”

_A rigid, steely lie._

Having proven her immunity, she stood slowly, allowing their host to pat her hand. “I’m not feeling well, Grandmaster. Can you make do without me for the rest of the day?”

“Sure, sweetheart. You go rest your pretty head. Check in with me tomorrow morning, okay?”

She nodded tersely before making her escape. She still hadn’t looked at him

He was not bothered. He had no business being bothered. 

_This will not do_.

“I do hope your potion hasn’t made your pet ill,” Loki ventured, watching as she disappeared through the archway. He kept his voice level, holding back the strange curiosity that had taken root.

The Grandmaster looked somewhat sheepish. “You did tell me clairvoyance was delicate. I guess I didn’t believe it was _that_ delicate. Oh well, now I know. No more prodding until I’m ready to have her for real.” He laughed, and Loki found he didn’t care for the sound. 

* * *

The remainder of his day with the Grandmaster consisted of a tour of the grand hall and a few of the gardens, filled with more flirtation and innuendo, promises from both he and Rezh that the next orgy would be nothing short of spectacular. As beautiful as Rezh was, Loki had no intention of being on Sakaar for the next orgy, though he kept that thought firmly to himself as he finally slipped away from them that night. Perhaps, as long as he wasn’t otherwise occupied, he could pay her a visit in her chambers... 

He sighed. 

Unfortunately, he still needed the mortal. With Rezh all too happy where she was, she would not be a useful tool in his escape plan. The mortal may be a lying agent, but she was a _motivated_ lying agent, one who wanted off this rock as much as he did. 

And… perhaps… he had been coarse today. As much as it chafed, his most efficient plan would still be to befriend her, to earn her trust, and he was off to a rather poor start. He scratched at his jaw, frowning to himself as he made his way back to his room. 

He huffed. He did not care for being at the mercy of the woman’s whims. Not one bit. And he, fool that he was, had let it show. 

Well. He would correct that now. He would set things straight, remind her of her part in this ploy of theirs, and that she had no business pouting at every offense when they would be finished with each other in a month’s time. 

_Yes._

_And then she’ll tell me how she performed that trick with the aphrodisiac._

Resolute, he didn’t pause before heading to the hidden door between their rooms, barrelling in without knocking. 

“If you’re finished with your little tantrum, mortal, I—”

He froze. 

The room was empty. 

The light was on. There was a book on one of the sofas that had not been there earlier. He looked past the divider, glancing at her bed. Empty as well. 

He looked more closely than he had earlier, paying more attention to the room itself. All around him was the very careful illusion of sparsity. She had gone through a substantial amount of effort to keep the room from feeling occupied, he realized. Except for the book on the sofa, there were no obvious appearances that anyone was living here. Her clothes were all tucked away, and no trinkets had been left around.

Loki, however, was more than a casual observer. There was a messiness about the periphery of the room that told him where to look, like the ragged edges of a well-read book. From where he stood, he saw that the space beneath her bed was heavily shadowed, cluttered with spirals of wire and flashing metallic pieces. A glance at her vanity revealed the same basic necessities he had been provided with: a brush, a comb, hair pins, clippers and a file for her nails, and various other tools for grooming. But interspersed with hers were a screwdriver, three pairs of pliers, wire strippers, and a selection of benders, connectors, and bits, all lined up neatly, as if the order would camouflage their use. Light caught on tiny flashes of glass on the ledge above the window: a row of trinkets hid there, peeking down at Loki as if in greeting. The room was absolutely _filled_ with little tools and gadgets, all of them hidden just out of sight. 

Finally, Loki glanced up, met with the reflection of his own perturbed face.

Just then, the door rattled, knob half-turning twice before finally making a full circle, allowing the door to swing open. Loki spun to face it, fingers twitching into fists. 

The mortal stepped in, arms clutching a bag overflowing with miscellaneous parts. When she saw him, her mouth fell back into that little O of surprise from that morning. She seemed perfectly well, as if the Grandmaster’s attempt to drug her had had no lasting effects, if any at all. 

Then, she frowned. “What are you doing back here?”


	7. The Purpose of Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elle tells some truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another weekend, my friends! I hope you're taking care of yourselves and doing something nice today. It's cold but sunny where I live, and after a week of snow and ice storms, it's a welcome change.
> 
> I'm ever so fond of this chapter. Dialogue-heavy scenes used to terrify me, but I had a lot of fun with this one. One of my favorite things to explore is a character's inner world vs. outer world, and what happens when the walls between those places get thin, and why. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Chapter warnings: lightly implied/referenced sexual coercion and rape.

* * *

Elle stepped into her room, a cloth bag full of miscellaneous parts tucked under her arm. Loki was waiting, arms crossed and brows pinched, mouth curved down in the corners. 

_Is he… tapping his foot?_

She didn’t hold back her incredulity. “What are you doing back here?”

He responded with one of the most exaggerated eye rolls she’d ever seen. “And just where _else_ would I be?”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if Elle was a fool for even having asked. She rolled her eyes right back at him, nudging the door shut behind her, jostling her miscellany between one arm and her chest so she could lock the door. “With Rezh, I would have thought.”

He tilted his head at that, arching one elegant brow and smirking pointedly. “Oh? Is that the glimmer of jealousy I hear in your voice, little mortal?”

“Yeah, right,” she growled out. “I thought you two would be off in the spa or off-world by now. Figured our deal was off.”

That seemed to confuse him, his arms falling to his sides. “And you just… accepted that?” 

She brushed past him with a shrug, letting her trinkets fall onto one of the sofas and kneeling to begin sorting through it, redirecting all of her attention on the task. _Diodes. Yes. Wires. Yes. Battery substitute for those gigantic Zandaarian vibrators? No. Although, maybe if I find an actual battery and take some additional wires…_

“Mortal!”

 _Right_. 

“Why wouldn’t I? Not like I can do anything to stop you. We’re not exactly equal in this deal of ours, are we? If you decide you want to stay, there’s not much I can do about it. Besides, I’m just a _pet_ , right? You’re making friends, playing nice, and I’m the same… _thing_ I was when you landed here. I never expected you to save me, Loki. I just didn’t think you’d bail so quickly.” She swallowed, refusing to blink as she focused on the pieces in her hands. She held her disappointment at bay, a rough lump in her throat. She couldn’t let him see this. Not this. He could have her numbness, but not her pain. That was hers, the thing that she’d hold when she was alone again. Because, if Loki’s interest in Rezh was any indication, she would be alone again soon.

Movement in her periphery drew her attention. She looked up to find he had approached by a few tentative steps. His jaw was working back and forth, as if chewing on whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“Just spit it out, your majesty.”

He blinked at her, a strange look surfacing on his features. Something searching, nearly disappointed in its own right. “Where is your anger?”

She glanced up at him. “What anger?”

“Do not play coy with me. You had nothing but fire and venom for me before, no matter how you conceal it outside this room. And now you’re…” He shook his head. “What are you playing at?”

Elle deflated with a sigh. “I’m not playing anything.” It pained her that she wasn’t. She _should_ be. Her tactical advisers would have a fit to see her guard down so completely. The truth was, she didn’t expect to see him again, had been sure that he would’ve gone with Rezh. Everyone went with Rezh once she made her interest apparent. Seeing him waiting for her in her room, regal and scowly as ever… she hadn’t been prepared. He'd caught her by surprise. 

Loki looked as if he didn’t believe her. Or like he didn’t _want_ to believe her. Suddenly he was crowding her, knees against her outer thigh as his fingers bit into her jaw, yanking her face toward him. She hissed out a pained breath, tried to jerk back, but it was like pulling against the tides themselves, a terrible undertow refusing to let her turn away. 

“Aren’t you?” His voice was a mere growl, low and threatening and all around her. “You _should_ be angry. There should be hatred in your eyes.” His own eyes were bright and burning, the confusion on his face blurred by distrust, by sparks of rage. His breath came in quick puffs against her face, barely controlled. He was looking for something. _What?_

Elle’s limbs tensed, the spike of adrenaline in her blood urging her to run. This was no man; this was a monster, everything she’d been warned against. But her training kept her still, rigid and rooted in place. The combination of the two surged inside her, locking her muscles tight, even as her voice dropped to a shaking whisper. “Self-preservation comes first. You’re not the first person to decide escape wasn’t worth the effort. There’s no point in being angry.”

He released his grip suddenly, as if she’d burned him, though his hand hovered beside her jaw. His brows knit in confusion. “You’re telling the truth.” His voice was hushed, guarded. As if speaking the words aloud would fracture the honesty she’d granted him.

She couldn’t quite say why that bothered her so much. The anger he seemed to crave finally ignited, sending her hand out to slap his away. She bit back a groan of pain at the contact; it was like punching steel. “I thought that’s what you wanted! You _told_ me to stop lying, right? What, you _don’t_ want me to be honest now?”

He let his hands fall to his lap as he sank to sit on his knees beside her, completely unaffected by the blow. He was still looking at her as if she'd done something perplexing, as if her honesty, her willingness to set aside her own agenda for the moment, had truly thrown him.

Perhaps as much as his presence in her room has thrown her. 

With a heavy sigh, she dug the heel of her hand against her eye. “What do you _want_ , Loki? ”

He frowned again, but there was something different in his gaze. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked… conflicted, somehow.

“You were ready to strike out at me earlier simply for calling myself your benefactor, but now, when I call you a pet, when you think I am to abandon you, you deflate rather than lash out against me. Have I broken you so easily? With so few words?”

Elle lifted her head with a scowl of suspicion, searched his eyes, looking for signs of a trick, of mockery, any hint that he was just trying to mess with her. But somehow, she couldn’t detect it. His body was rigid, but more from anticipation than malice. There was no cruel smirk, no shifting gaze to betray that his attention was divided. No. He simply watched her, waiting for an answer. And what she saw in him now was no edge, no whetted blade. This was confusion, and beneath that a plea; distant, echoing from somewhere inside him, something she couldn't yet place. She understood this much: Loki was a man of thorns. A man of piercing and tearing, of blood and pain. 

_And what’s the purpose of thorns?_

Her energy left her all at once, as if he’d tugged some integral thread inside her and she had no choice but to unravel. She was suddenly so tired. Of Sakaar. Of her act. Of the person she needed to be to survive. All of it. 

Admitting such a thing was weakness. Director Fury had instilled that in her from her first day of training. 

It had been a long time since she’d been allowed to be weak.

Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her sigh, a lonely cavern yawning open behind her ribs. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have someone more powerful than you watch your every move? To know that any mistake could either get you killed or land you as a sex slave? You haven’t broken me, but I can’t keep wasting my anger on you. Sometimes anger is the only thing that keeps me from giving up completely, and I need whatever I have left to survive here. If you don’t want to leave, or if you find another way off Sakaar… well, I can’t stop you. But I can’t pin all my hope on you either, can I? Just like you can’t pin yours on me. I need to save my rage for myself, because if you change your mind and leave me here, that’s all I’ll have left. I know who you are, Loki, and I know humans are nothing but ants under your boot. I can’t bet my life on you. I just can’t.”

That strange look again, like he didn’t want to believe her. But it was an honest answer. God, it might have been the first fully honest thing she’d said in months. It left her feeling sore, almost, raw, as if she’d clawed out some dark, festering thing that lived inside her gut and brought it into the light. 

Loki may be her only way off Sakaar, but she’d be an idiot to think she was his. If he even truly wanted to leave. He seemed to be fitting in with the Grandmaster and Rezh just fine. Loki was a conqueror, a destroyer—it made sense for him to fall in with tyrants. She’d known this was all a ploy when she approached him at the bar, _still_ knew that this slapdash partnership did not make them friends. 

But damn it, she was exhausted. Having to put every waking moment into surviving drained her. And in this moment, she had failed to hide it. It filled her up with that familiar burn of shame, to have let her guard down like this. 

Silence pooled between them, a thick and heavy thing that wrapped around Elle like a cloak. She went about sorting her trinkets into piles, willing herself to focus entirely on the task at hand, anything to keep her mind away from the man beside her, away from what it meant if he decided not to help her.

Away from the fact that his gaze had not moved from her face.

Eventually, she heard a breath leave him, a whisper of a sigh. From her periphery, she saw Loki’s hand slide into view, pulling some of the unsorted mess towards him. His fingers were tentative but steady, beginning to sort the various pieces as if he was as familiar with them as she was. When he spoke, his voice was softer, nearly fragile in its sincerity. 

He sounded just as tired as she was. 

“You know nothing about me, Elle.”

Her hands went still at the sound of her name. There was no bite in it, no sting of mockery, merely a quiet sort of acknowledgement. It was heavy, not with resentment, but with understanding. No, deeper than that. With _sympathy_. 

She blinked, fighting the sudden sting in her eyes. It was nothing, she tried to tell herself. No, nothing at all, to hear her name spoken by someone other than the Grandmaster or Rezh. To hear that she was acknowledged, even for just a moment, as a person and not property. As her own. Not _sweetheart_ or _human_ or _mortal_. Or _pet_. 

She took a shaking breath, biting down on the inside of her cheek. She dared a glance at Loki, only to find he was gazing resolutely at the object in his hands. It was a curved piece of metal, silver and thin as a piece of paper, but sturdy enough that she would struggle to bend it if she tried. 

She couldn’t trust him. She knew that. And yet, in this moment, exhausted and deflated as she was, he’d spoken her name. Had spoken it, and in doing so, made something dark inside her spark to life, red and warm and searching. She’d been alone for so long. Maybe, just for tonight, she didn’t have to be. Maybe for tonight, someone could be in her corner. Even if that someone was Loki.

_Just for tonight. Just so I can get my bearings._

“That’s a Sakaaran conduction plate,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “It’s a good piece to have with any sort of electromagnetic work you need to do. Set it aside?”

He looked at her then, eyebrow raised in curiosity. She counted out a dozen little diodes, tiny glass bulbs embedded on what looked like a thin copper screw with a flat base. “Here. Set these aside with it. And this.” She reached under the sofa and pulled out a wide, flat metal bin brimming with trinkets just like what they were sorting through now. She scanned the contents for a moment before presenting him with a small basic braid of yellow wire. Both of Loki’s brows were up now, gaze flitting between her face and the stash of spare parts. She chuckled sheepishly, seeming to smooth away the remaining tension between them. “You have to make your own fun when you’re basically a hostage on a garbage planet, right?”

To her immense surprise, that earned her a quick laugh, a rough exhalation through his nose. It was not an unwelcome sound. He plucked the wire from her fingers, setting it off to the side as she’d instructed. “What are these for, then?“

“So I can build you your own lock...” He looked interested. “...slash mirror disabler for the bright mornings.“ He looked _very_ interested. She couldn’t help herself—she smirked. 

“That is nearly acceptable,” he said, lifting his chin as he turned back to his pile. “I am a perfectly capable craftsman, once I understand what pieces I am working with. You will show me how to build this contraption myself.”

“Oh, will I?”

Another impressive eye roll. “All right, I would _prefer_ for you to show me how to build this contraption. It will benefit us both if I am more familiar with all the goings-on of this planet, be it social demands or granular details.” 

“I wouldn’t have thought kings were that interested in working with their hands.”

He gave her a flashing, slanted smile. “I can assure you, I am unlike any king you have ever known. Just because necessity does not often demand I engage in craftwork, it does not mean I am not able.”

Before she could tell him that he was actually the _only_ king she’d ever known, he held up a conical metal item about the size of his thumb, ridged on the sides, made of a faintly red metal. “What’s this one?”

“A screw, basically. Used in a lot of furniture, and incidentally, good for taking doors off hinges. Locked kitchen cabinets, specifically, if you need more food or supplies. They break fairly easily, though, so I try to grab them whenever I can. Here, please.” She pointed to a cluster of similar items in the upper right corner of her storage bin. 

Loki evaluated the assemblage, adding tokens from the pile. “You have a multitude of these items hidden around your room. No need to look alarmed, I’ve not taken anything. You’ve hidden them decently enough.” He looked lazily about the room before turning his gaze back to her. “How long have you been here?” 

He sounded genuinely curious; another surprise. Elle tipped her head in thought. “Eight months, I think. The Grandmaster says time moves differently here, but I don’t know how much differently.”

“And you’ve scavenged for these parts all this time?”

When she looked over, he was focusing on the items in his hands. His lashes were low, a dark fan hovering just above his skin. An elegant, strong nose. A sharp curve to his mouth. When he glanced at her from his periphery, she ducked her head.

“I don’t scavenge. I did when I first got here, but I got caught pretty quickly. Embarrassingly quickly, actually. I worked out a deal with the Scrapper who caught me, where I keep her paid and she keeps the supplies coming in. The Grandmaster was busy with you all day, so I met her tonight.”

“Scrappers. They’re the ones who tried to bring me to the palace by force.”

“Right. They work for the Grandmaster. They patrol the planet, watch the portals for new arrivals and bring them in for processing. Nobody just walks in like you did.” (He hummed, smirking.) “The strong ones, the fighters, are brought to the arena or into the security circuit. Sometimes they’re strong enough to get in with the Scrappers eventually. Most of us are brought in as ‘food.’” She raised one hand, bending her index and middle fingers to indicate the air quotes. “But that’s more or less slang for the working class. Maids, cooks, maintenance techs, servants, bodies for the pleasure circuits... Anyone not strong enough to make it in the arena.”

Loki raised his head. “And what class are you? You’re not the only human here. I would have thought he'd keep you together, if you're of the same group.”

Elle cleared her throat quietly, double-knotting a length of twine on which she began to string a series of larger diodes. “We're not. I was only in that wing of the palace for a day or so, and I only met the others briefly. They were here before me, and they told me the Grandmaster would give me the choice of where to serve. They’d chosen the pleasure circuit. It… affords certain protections the other servants don’t have. Outside of an orgy, nobody’s going to hassle a pleasure servant who belongs to the Grandmaster. The same can’t be said for the ones who work in other parts of the palace.” She swallowed, all too aware that she benefited from the same protections, much as she despised the man who offered them; the tilt of Loki’s head told her she hadn’t kept the venom from her voice. “The Grandmaster likes games, but he also likes obedience. He thinks that giving us a choice will make us more compliant.”

“But you chose a different path.”

Elle nodded. “They meant to add me to the pleasure circuit. When I met the Grandmaster, the others had warned me what that would mean. So, I pitched my cover story instead. Magic virgin who could help him read auras see the future, but only if I stayed a virgin.” She laughed, a small, breathless sound. “I didn’t think he’d buy it. I got lucky.”

Loki regarded her for a moment, tracing the component in his hand with his thumb. “No. You played your part well.”

Elle didn't know how to respond to that, so she instead chose to let the silence pool between them. It was more comfortable this time. Not as unwieldy. Then Loki returned his attention to the pieces in his hand, beginning to sort them once again as he returned them to the previous thread of conversation. 

“And what Scrapper in their right mind would ever work with you behind the Grandmaster's back?”

Elle chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, you’ll meet 142. At least I think you will. She tends to come by once a month, right after an orgy. If our plan’s still on and we don’t get off Sakaar by the next one, she’ll be around.”

“It is my hope we will no longer be here by then.” He threw her a suspicious look. “And what, praytell, do you pay Scrapper 142 with? Do not tell me you’ve traded your fabled virginity for spare parts?”

Elle cleared her throat, heat staining her cheeks and neck. “No, not that.”

She had his full attention again, like when she’d been speaking at breakfast. He was listening very intently, his gaze intensely focused enough to feel like physical pressure. She made herself take a breath before responding. “She’s really attractive, but she… well, she looks a lot like my ex. I couldn’t pay her that way even if I wanted to.”

“Oh?” He grinned mischievously. “Is it not exciting to indulge in a bit of fantasy? To enact a scenario of a former paramour with a new one? Or is the wound still too fresh for such a thing to be enjoyable?”

God, her face burned even hotter at that. But it was strange: Elle didn’t detect malice in the question. Teasing, surely, but it didn’t feel barbed, didn’t feel like it was meant to hurt. It felt almost… playful. Or Loki’s brand of playful, anyway, which still made her squirm. 

Detecting no ill intent, she let slip a shy, awkward smile that felt more like a grimace. “I don’t think you can call a wound fresh after four years. But there’s no… I just…” She gestured emptily, searching for the right words. “I’m just not wired for flings.” That was the easiest way to put it to head off further conversation. She was _not_ detailing the ins and outs of her switch to Loki.

“I pay her in whatever currency I can find,” she continued. “I don’t participate at the orgies, but the Grandmaster still likes me to attend. I think he hopes I’ll be so overwhelmed with lust that I’ll run to him and beg him to take me.” (Loki smirked at the bitter sarcasm in her voice.) “The new guests never know to leave their bags in their rooms, and there are _always_ newbies on Sakaar. I usually wait until things are underway, take a few laps around the room, grab whatever’s shiny, and bring it back to Scrapper 142.” She shrugged. “Not very elegant, but it gets the job done.”

He evaluated her for a few moments, nodding contemplatively. “Rather clever of you,” he admitted finally, beginning to sort through the loose wires and braiding them together by color as she had. “Speaking of the Grandmaster’s hope that you will be overcome with lust. What did he offer you today? I thought you had said to be wary of anything blue and shimmering, and that beverage was undoubtedly both.”

“Definitely avoid that stuff. It’s strong as hell and it’ll make you miserable.”

“And your constitution is somehow stronger than mine in this regard?” 

“Oh god no. I’ve just been here for eight months, remember? What no one on this planet seems to account for is the ability to _sip_.” 

She watched realization spread over his face. It made his eyes brighter, setting the thin ring of gold around his pupil alight.

“You’ve been administering them to yourself.”

She gave him a small shrug. “Again, not very elegant, but effective. Kind of recurring theme here.”

Loki sat up a bit straighter, a frown of deduction settling over his features. “How long have you been doing this? Are you completely immune?”

“Pretty much since I got here. The Grandmaster wasn’t subtle about his intentions, literally from day one. Once it was clear aphrodisiacs were common, I started trying them in small doses to see how strong they were and build up a tolerance.” She gestured at the in-suite bar. “I’m sure you have them, too. And no, I’m not completely immune. I can only tolerate a mouthful of blue shimmery stuff at once. It gives me a headache now, but a nothing-else ache, you know?”

“Interesting. We will come back to this. First, there was another lie you told me today that we must address.”

Elle squinted. Another lie? She was usually so good at keeping track, but she didn’t recall another lie. _Shit_ , had she let something slip about her job? About S.H.I.E.L.D.? “What, uh… what did I say?”

“You said there was no water, but what’s to be found for bathing.”

“Oh. Right. Here.” She stood, motioning for him to follow. A small, panicked voice told her not to show him, that she should keep this secret hidden. But, she wanted off of Sakaar, and if Loki was truly as committed to escaping as she was (and didn’t his presence here prove that, somewhat?), this was one secret she could afford to let slip.

_Besides, he's being way nicer now than he was this morning. It doesn’t hurt to build up a little more goodwill._

She led him to her bar, revealing the carefully organized rows. From behind a row of bottles necklaced with blue ribbon, she retrieved a shabby-looking device. Its frame was about the size of her palm, a metal square she had layered with folds of an extremely fine grey material and enclosed in a beaten-up plastic(ish) casing. Around the edges were more of the diodes, strung together with blue wire. Small openings were cut on both ends of the device, where she had affixed thin rubber tubes that had gone grey with use. “I made a water filter. I run liquor through here and it separates out the alcohol into water. I keep the water,” she gestured towards the bottles, “and dump out what’s left.”

Loki crossed his arms over his chest, giving her an appraising look. “Quite clever of you, to build such things from a heap of refuse. Alien refuse, at that.” His fingers drummed evenly on the curve of his bicep. “How have you found yourself so well-equipped to adapt to the difficulties and demands here?”

 _Shit._ Elle pulled her lower lip between her teeth, sighing dramatically in a way she hoped implied a long story. _I can’t lie. What do I say?_

“It’s a long story.”

 _Uh oh_. That was definitely not the right answer. Loki moved off to sit on the armrest of her sofa, crossing one of his long legs over the other and knitting his fingers together over his knee. How he managed to make such an awkward position look so casual was beyond her. _Probably the good posture and raised chin._

“We have nothing but time. You may proceed.”

_Oh, may I?_

Elle kept the thought to herself as she retrieved two glass bottles of water, passing one off to Loki and buying herself another few moments with a few deep pulls from her own. “I guess I have you to thank, actually. After your… visit to the city, security got pretty tight across the state. A lot of companies wanted their people to have basic survival skills in case of another attack. My bosses were no different, so we all had to learn a few things.”

Which was the truth. Director Fury himself had issued the order that all S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel were to receive survival training. Admin or field agent, it didn't matter: everyone needed to up their game once Loki came into the picture. 

“Such as?” The Asgardian stared over the rim of his bottle as he took a long, even drink.

“Basic first aid, for one. How to staunch bleeding and properly set bones and sanitize wounds.”

“What else?”

“Very preliminary self defense.” In the sense that she’d been abysmal at hand-to-hand combat beyond learning to throw a basic punch. She was no Melinda May; she’d quickly been labeled as a runner, not a fighter. "And...” she lifted her little makeshift filter. “Basic metalwork, engineering, and electrical education. Enough to string together some lights and get a generator going if you’re stranded in some rubble.” She’d done very well in the scavenging and reassembly courses, actually. _I’ll never make field agent based on that alone, but the offices aren’t so bad_ , she’d thought, once upon a time.

“And you were able to apply this knowledge to these alien machines?”

“You don’t have to sound so incredulous.”

He seemed to hide a smirk behind another pull from his bottle. “I meant no offense. There seems to be a lack of consistency on this planet. With the various portals bringing in so many different beings and equipment from different realms, it becomes increasingly unlikely that you could assemble these items into any sort of functional device. That you’ve managed to do so is an impressive feat.”

“Oh.” She blinked, suddenly unsure of where to look. Down at her feet seemed safe. “Thanks. Took a lot of trial and error, but I got there eventually.”

He stared at her for a long moment, head tilting. “And what is it you did on Midgard, exactly, to learn how to get through such trials and errors?”

_Shit!_

She took another long drink before answering, pulse thumping against her temples. They were having a moment, weren’t they? Sort of? As much as two extremely reluctant allies could have, at any rate. Why did he have to ruin it by stressing her out? “I was an analyst for a big company. It was my job to know a little of everything.”

 _Does he buy it? It’s the truth. The actual, honest truth. The fact that I was a_ behavioral _analyst for S.H.I.E.L.D. shouldn’t set off his lie-o-meter or magic lie detector or whatever it is, right?_

Loki’s mouth quirked, so minutely that Elle thought maybe she imagined it. The muscles in her legs began to tense, waiting to see if he’d strike out at her, if he’d scream and call her a liar.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Loki nodded, features returning to their usual smooth nonchalance. “I will grant you this, mortal. You may prove more useful than I'd originally anticipated.”

It took all her effort not to slouch in relief. Instead, she raised her eyebrows, flattening her tone. “Wow. Such praise.” 

“It is, considering your situation.”

He rose slowly, stretching so Elle saw, _truly_ saw, the impressive height of him. Suddenly she thought of him as he was on TV all those years ago, domineering and brutal and violent. Her fingers twitched, instinct and training flaring up against each other in an effort to stay still. She never would have thought that man was capable of the quiet self-control she’d seen tonight. _After grabbing my face, that is._

She looked away, taking a small sip.

“This has been a long but enlightening day,” he said, moving toward the adjoining door. “We will continue our education in the morning.”

She sputtered, still not used to the way he made casual demands, as if his word was law. “We will?”

“Yes. You will tell me more about the aphrodisiacs and how you went about building up your tolerance, and tomorrow evening, once the Grandmaster is finished with us, you will show me how to build that little contraption for the door and ceiling. Agreed?”

It took Elle a moment to catch up. That was it? He bought her story about her survival skills? No more questions? 

Had she really gotten away with it? Or had he just allowed it, because of all the other truth she'd given him tonight? Shame flickered inside her again. _It was just for tonight. My guard was down. It won’t happen again._

“Yeah. Yes. That works.”

“Excellent. Goodnight, then, Elle.”

With a small bow, he was gone again, the door secured behind him. Elle stared at it for a long moment before she was able to collect her racing thoughts. As she got undressed for bed, she was unable to shake the look in his eyes when he’d sat down beside her, nor the odd strain in his voice when he asked where her rage was. Pulling the blankets up, she thought back to that very training that was serving her now, of Director Fury pacing slowly in front of her and the other recruits. 

_“Remember that any opponent you face never exists in a vacuum. How they fight, how they respond, what they prioritize: it all comes down to lives lived before you encounter them. They will expect from you what everyone else in their lives has given them before. If you’re captured, you have to know how to flip this expectation. Knowing how to surprise your opponent, to make them see you as something unique, makes you valuable and keeps you alive.Your job, whether you’re out in the field or behind a desk, is to constantly evaluate what you know and compare it against what you learn. Stagnant information will get you killed.”_

Maybe her honesty had helped her after all, Elle mused. Because of it, she'd learned something tonight. Perhaps Loki had not meant to teach her, had perhaps not expected her to be listening. But she was, more closely now than ever before. 

What had happened to Loki that he expected her to respond with rage instead of hurt? What had his life been that anger was the only fathomable option, that even giving him the honesty he wanted triggered his ire? She suddenly wondered about all those filing cabinets and all those files, the ones she’d seen and the ones she didn’t have access to. So many words, and yet, she was suddenly sure she had a vastly incomplete story. So many pictures and summaries of what his anger had caused, but no mention of what triggered it. 

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of a garden of thorns. She moved through rows and rows of them, vibrant, emerald green with deep purple tips, clutching at her hair and clothes, scratching at her hands and her face. She was surrounded, struggling to move forward as blood welled from a million tiny cuts, seeming to draw more of the wicked things forward. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. Elle yanked against them, knees buckling as the thorns curled around her limbs, twisting through her hair like a fist. They tugged her down and down and down, pulling her beneath the dark, damp soil until there was nothing left of her at all.


	8. Many Shades of Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Struggling to make conversation with your wary ally? Have you considered discussing aphrodisiacs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Sorry I'm getting this up a couple days late. Last week's work schedule was unforgiving, to say the least, and I needed to take the weekend to recuperate. But, I'm back upright and ready to share this chapter, in which my favorite prickly pears Elle and Loki have a long talk about aphrodisiacs and the harsh realities of life on Sakaar. While we don't get anything too graphic, please mind the chapter warnings, as we're getting into some topics that may be upsetting. But we also have some bonding, as much as Elle and Loki might scoff at the idea right now.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Happy Monday :)  
> 
> 
> Chapter warnings: Mentions of drugging/slipping aphrodisiacs into drinks/the effects of being drugged (but there is no resulting assault or non-con). Talking about aphrodisiacs and masturbation. References to past torture and trauma. Non-con, non-sexual touching.

* * *

Loki awoke quite pleased with himself, that pleasure crawling over his face in a self-satisfied grin. With a soft hum of contemplation, he curled his arm to drum his fingers against his sternum. He had played his part to perfection, as he did so often. The woman— _Elle, it must be Elle from now on if this is going to work_ —was lonely. Crushingly so, more than enough to eventually trust him. Eight months spent alone and afraid had left their mark on her. 

With a bit of restraint and some careful questioning, he’d gotten her to show him her machines and her tools, and today, she would surrender more of her secrets to survival on Sakaar. He’d anticipated more of a fight, honestly, but she had been ever so responsive to the use of her name. It was important to her, he’d realized, to be seen as her own. To be thought of as more than property. 

His smile faltered, fingers going still.

He had truly wounded her, hadn’t he? Calling her the Grandmaster’s pet, her belief that he had so quickly forgotten their alliance, it damaged her somehow. _Hurt_ her. Her face surfaced in his mind’s eye, that vacant, defeated expression when she told him she wasn’t angry. When she told him she knew him, knew that his hatred was the best he could offer.

He thought of the fear in her eyes when he’d grabbed her jaw. The unnatural stillness that stole over her body after her lone attempt to pull away. He’d recognized it instantly as the same strange stillness that shrouded her in the bar; that combination of adrenaline and rigidity that betrayed a deep, harrowing terror she dared not show. 

Loki tensed his shoulders, pushing his head back against his pillow as some cold, greasy feeling slatted itself between his ribs, oozing into his gut.

 _“Anger is the only thing that keeps me from giving up completely, and I need whatever I have left to survive here.”_ Her words had stunned him, flaying deep into the center of his mind, churning up the rocky soil of jagged memories he tried so hard to keep buried. 

His cell. The heat. The bladed pain. 

The hopelessness that came after his rage had faltered. What had happened, when all that was left was his fear.

It was as if she’d held up a mirror to his own agony, daring him to refuse it.

He shook his head, gritting out a low snarl. It was an act of some sort, he was sure of it. No doubt taught by her masters at S.H.I.E.L.D. He was confident now that was where her loyalties resided, based on what she had revealed of her training. Surely they had taught her how draw her features tight, not in anger, but in sadness, and that deep, aching loneliness that Loki assured himself he did not sympathize with in the least. 

He rubbed his hands over his face, stifling a groan. He’d had the opportunity to pry further into her employment, into just how she’d found herself on Sakaar. She had left him the perfect moment to strike. Why had he not taken it? 

Why allow this charade to continue?

 _I was in no mood to push against her lies, that's all_. _I was simply gathering information. It was not the right time to press._

It changed nothing. Nuances of performance were still performance. _Gain her trust, learn her secrets, get off this planet._ Yes. He would stick to the plan and be off Sakaar in a month’s time, back to Asgard to reclaim his throne and his magic. Her anger, her loneliness, they were of no consequence to him.

That greasy feeling in his stomach only tightened. 

He shoved it aside and nodded resolutely to himself as he rose from his bed. The suns were just beginning to rise, staining the sky a light, inky purple. He dressed quickly, then burst through the adjoining door without knocking.

“Arise, mortal, we—Oh.”

Elle was already awake, tucked over on the sofa against the far wall with a book in her lap. Despite the early hour, she had been expecting him, it seemed: she was dressed and groomed for the day, draped in a short wrap of navy silk that nearly complemented his own blue leathers. She looked up, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “Morning.”

Loki straightened, found himself shifting his weight from one leg to the other as she looked up at him, her gaze gentle in its focus. “Did you sleep?”

“A little. Bad dreams.” She shrugged, setting her book aside. He arched his neck to examine the cover, which made her hum bashfully, holding it up for him. “The Watch and Clock Encyclopedia. Exciting stuff, right? It’s the only book in English I’ve found out here."

"Ah." 

They each waited, merely watching each other another moment, Loki crossing his arms, Elle raising her eyebrows.

“I thought we could—”

“We should begin with—”

An awkward, halting pause followed by more silence. Loki watched her dip her head with an embarrassed chuckle, but then she was walking to him with sure, even steps. He tilted his head curiously as she moved beside him, waiting to see how she would proceed. 

“Here. You wanted to start with the aphrodisiacs, right?”

“Yes. There is much ground to cover if we are to escape this rock before the month is out.”

She made a sound of affirmation as she opened up the bar, making room for him to close the space between them. When he did, she did not flinch away. _A nuance. It does not matter._

“We should definitely work on that timeline. I have a feeling you’ll be popular, if you’re here for the next orgy.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“I mean. You know. You’re…” She flapped a hand at him, carefully averting her eyes. “Conventionally appealing.”

He could have gaped. _Nearly_ gaped. Had he ever been called attractive with less passion? He had half a mind to be offended, if her opinion mattered at all to him. But the energy around her was interesting, had him pressing his tongue to his teeth as he peered down at her. It was not a lie, not quite, but there was something peculiar about it. It was cool in the way her truth was, but not free-flowing. It was stale, somehow. There was more to her statement. Something withheld.

Why should he care?

He did not care. He was not here for her amusement. Still… 

He drummed his fingers on his bicep. “Please, do not attempt too valiantly to win me over through flattery, mortal,” he said dryly. “I shan’t know how to recover.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the smirk playing over her lips before could bite it back. Saw the faint pink dusting along the swell of her cheeks. “Fine. You’ll be popular because you’re hot. Happy?”

_Better. But still not the whole truth._

He raised his brows, tilting his head just so. She fidgeted under his stare, but there was no fear in her today, no adrenaline or terror. No, this was something more subtle. Something softer. Something warm and vulnerable. _Interesting_. 

“Popular with whom? Not you, I take it?”

Oh, what a _fascinating_ expression she made. He had surprised her, bringing that little O back to her lips and making her dark eyes widen for just a moment. He pressed his lips tight to suppress his grin; he quite liked being able to do that, to make her drop that mask. It made him feel as though they were both on uneven footing.

 _All part of our little game_ , he told himself.

She cleared her throat softly, now _extremely_ focused on sorting through the bottles before her. “Looks only do so much for me,” she admitted after a moment. Though it was a simple statement, the truth of it rushed over him in a soothing wave, brisk and sweet and clean. He thought back to her comment the night before, about this mystery Scrapper she did business with looking like a former lover. Another woman. 

“I see. Perhaps the lovely Rezh is your preference, then?”

She shook her head, pulling a few bottles to the forefront in no apparent pattern. “Let’s just say my preferences are few and far between. My apparent disinterest makes the virgin bit easier to sell.”

 _Truth._ It was refreshing, receiving so much of it. It felt like cool silk, soft and inviting in his mind. He quite liked the feel of her truth, he decided. Much better than that rigid, stagnant aura of lies that surrounded her. Loki found himself wanting more of it. It was easier to navigate, that was all. He was not curious. He was not enjoying coaxing the truth out of so guarded a creature. He certainly felt no gleaming twinge of pride in seeing someone so lost and lonely accepting the obligatory olive twigs (for surely they were not branches) he offered for the sake of his escape. 

Loki merely enjoyed puzzles, even puzzles he would be done playing soon. 

He took a small breath, noting the way she watched him from her periphery. “And how did you sell your performance yesterday? How did you manage to take a mouthful of that potion and remain unaffected?”

“Right. Okay. First thing’s first.” A resolute, almost stern expression etched into her features, reminding him of a face very much like his tutors used to make when they were imploring him to sit still during his lessons. She faced him with an adjustment of her shoulders, chin jutting up. “Let’s just acknowledge up front that this is a weird conversation, okay? There’s no way to talk about aphrodisiacs without talking about... biological reactions, so let’s just get the giggling out of the way now and agree that this is a strictly educational talk.”

Loki made an indignant sound, hands falling to his hips. “I do not _giggle_ , mortal. Honestly, are you Midgardians so puerile that you cannot discuss adult matters without falling prey to embarrassed tittering?”

“Look, there’s no need to be crabby about it—”

“If I am anything, it is _impatient_ that you feel the need to give this conversation such unnecessary disclaimers. We are both adults and I had _assumed_ you could act as such. Oh, do spare me the scowl and get on with it.”

 _“Fine.”_ She turned away with an indignant little huff, spreading her hands out to present the cabinet to him. “So. I have a system. Those down on the bottom, with the gold ribbon? That’s just alcohol. No drugs, nothing fancy. And anything with a blue ribbon, like I showed you last night, is water. That leaves the red. These are the ones to watch out for.” She pointed up at the high shelves, a variety of colors and viscosities winking down at them. “Start with sips. I can’t stress that enough. I know you’re probably stronger than I am—”

“Probably?”

“Ugh, fine, you’re _so much stronger_ than I am.”

He smirked and gave her a deep nod, bidding her to continue.

“But start slow until you get to know how they affect you. I have a sip of one of these every day to keep my tolerance up, but you _need_ to start _slow._ They all tend to hit your system in different ways, which can be a pain when you’re trying to build up a tolerance, but it helps you keep your bearings when someone doses you or offers you a drink.”

_When._

_Not if._

A fist of ice tightened in his gut. “Has this happened to you? Were you drugged?”

“A few times.” Her eyes moved in restless patterns, meeting his only to dart away. Had S.H.I.E.L.D. taught her this? This pained sincerity? Could something like this even be taught?

“But that’s why I’m telling you to sip everything you don’t pour yourself. When it happened, I recognized it as soon as it hit and I got myself back to my room safely. Building up a tolerance is helpful, but knowing what these feel like when they hit your system is just as important.”

He nodded. “And the effects are manageable in such low doses?” 

She rubbed the back of her neck, scanning the bottles. “Some more than others. Here, see the red shimmery one? That’s Rotan’s Kiss—not Devil’s Kiss, which is the purple one they served you at the bar. Devil’s Kiss is a mix of aphrodisiacs and a strong Sakaaran wine. The combination makes people aggressive, more impatient and less aware of themselves. The aphrodisiac is pretty standard, but the added alcohol gives it an unpredictable edge.

“Rotan’s Kiss, on the other hand, is just your basic, run-of-the-mill aphrodisiac: heightens and extends desire and pleasure while shortening recovery time. It’s made from those plasticky looking plants we saw in the greenhouse yesterday, so it has fewer chemicals, which makes it easier to burn off. Catch yourself in time and you can get that out of your system yourself in an hour or so just by drinking water. Enough of it can make you uncomfortable, but never out-of-your-mind desperate. 

“And that one, the blue milky stuff? That’s Zandaarian Fengree. That one lasts a bit longer, maybe four hours with a full shot. That one can definitely lead to some long nights if you’re not careful, but again, if you catch yourself in time you can get it under control with some water and, you know, self-help. It also makes certain levels of pain feel better, and it makes salty things taste sweet, so it’s pretty popular.” 

Loki wondered at the detached, unbothered way she described it, as if recounting this had no affect on her. As if the biological responses, as she’d put it, were inconsequential. As if it was of no consequence that she had apparently tried all of these herself and managed to keep up her virginal act. _How lonely, indeed, to be so lost and isolated, reducing acts of pleasure to clinical trials for survival. How frustrating it must have been…_

He pushed the thought aside; an academic approach was for the best, really. This was an informational exchange and nothing more.

“And what was the blue shimmering one the Grandmaster offered you yesterday?”

She gestured toward a tall, thin bottle, lips pressed into a thin line. “Celenine. Very similar to Zandaarian Fengree, but it’s got some kind of hallucinogen mixed in. The tantric groups use it a lot, and it’s a _bitch_ to build up a tolerance for.”

“And the Grandmaster gave it to you knowing this.” He flinched, surprised by the heated edge he heard in his voice. From the look on Elle’s face, she heard it, as well. “He intended to drug your body and mind for everyone to see.”

She shrugged, voice dipping low, emotion creeping back in at the edges. Sadness and exhaustion and the bitterness of defeat. It was not biology that troubled her, he realized, but what the people here chose to do with it. The weaponization of pleasure. “Things aren’t nice here, Loki. Everybody is property here, in one way or another.” 

Though she did not speak the words aloud, he understood her meaning: _a matter of when, not if._

Elle’s gaze dropped to her feet, though he did not miss the sheen in her eyes. She was allowing a vulnerability to come to the surface that he knew he would never see outside this room. It had not occurred to him that so soft an edge could cut, and yet he found himself pulling away, as if escaping from the pressure of a blade against his skin. A blade she had put there, wrapped in the terrible sweetness of her honesty: _Pity. Sympathy._

Made sharper when she offered him a tired smile. “If you decide to try this one, be extra careful, okay? Don’t take it from anyone, especially not the Grandmaster. It messes with your head.”

He barely repressed a shudder, working his jaw as he looked away from her. “I have had more than enough of that for several lifetimes.”

“What do you mean?”

Loki went rigid, cold down to his core. He had not meant to voice that aloud. It was one thing to remember, but to speak it… he’d never told anyone what he'd endured in Sanctuary. Not a single soul. To put it into words felt like a dark omen, like summoning an ancient creature from the toxic muck of his soul, something putrid and stagnant. He had no wish to heave it out into the light. He locked his muscles to repress the threat of another shiver. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” His voice was low, but thankfully steady. Still, she looked up at him, brows knitted, lips parted in her confusion. In concern.

He forced his gaze back to the cabinet, straightening his spine and pointing to a small bottle with not one but two red ribbons fastened around its neck. The syrupy, opalescent liquid inside seemed to glow. “And what is this one?”

Elle blinked, watching him for another moment before looking to where he pointed. She winced, and for the first time in this conversation, a true, deep blush seared across her cheeks, burning down along her throat. He could all but feel the heat of it radiating off her. 

“That’s Shine. Shine’s, um...” She blew out a long, uncomfortable breath. “Shine’s a beast.”

Loki nodded and waited patiently for her to continue. When she did, she pointedly kept her gaze averted. “The Grandmaster breaks it out for holidays, I hear. I’ve only seen it out for guests once, right when I first got here. That’s where I grabbed the bottle. It’s incredibly potent. Even a small dose can last for close to a day. Has the usual bag of tricks: more pleasure, pleasurable pain, and virtually no recovery period needed, from what I’ve heard.”

“Have you not felt the effects of this one?”

“I have. I just… I didn’t seek out a partner. I mean, I didn’t seek out a partner for any of these, but with Shine? It was… horrific.” She rubbed a hand over her eyes, her voice wavering into something deeper than embarrassment. Memory, he realized. Memory of pain. 

“God, out with it, Elle,” she muttered, shaking herself. “Okay. It makes it so you can’t finish on your own. Your skin becomes wrong somehow, like you can’t recognize your own body, or anything that’s not living skin. Masturbation and toys… they don’t do anything for you. _Nothing_.” 

She cleared her throat, but even so, he heard the lingering mortification of what she had endured. “I told you my preferences are few and far between, right? I don’t… I don’t _want_ people that often, and when I do, it’s usually under a very specific set of circumstances. But after Shine? I had to barricade myself in my room. I had to tie myself to the furniture like an animal. No matter what I did, there was no relief. Shine _hurts._ ” She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill, and Loki recognized the distant, hardened look in her eyes. Knew all too well the fine line she now walked, between simple recollection and a memory surging back to life, not in her mind, but in her flesh. That fist of ice in his gut fractured, sending the cold all through him. 

“Shine made me into something I didn’t recognize. With anything else on this shelf, when you get dosed, you’ll still feel like yourself, you know? An incredibly desperate version of yourself, but still _you_ underneath it all. Even with Celenine, you see things that aren’t there, but there’s still something of yourself inside. On Shine? It’s like _you_ are stripped away. You’re crazed. Desperate doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s…”

She shuddered, as if realizing she was skirting the edge of a truth she did not wish to share. This went beyond loneliness, he knew; beyond fear. This was torment: her own body turned against her. Pleasure stripped of comfort, of consent. The truth of it, of her words and implications, struck him like a physical blow. And every word of it, a clean, winding truth that he had no business reveling in.

The ice in his belly tightened once more, pulling uncomfortably. “Did you take this of your own volition?” His voice was small, no more than a whisper. He could not quite say why the answer was so desperately important to him. He wanted… needed to know if the Grandmaster had tried to hurt her, beyond what he’d already seen. 

When she nodded, relief unspooled through him in a rush, but it was accompanied by something else. Something blunt but undeniable nonetheless: _recognition_. Though it had been carried out in different methods, he recognized the ways Sakaar had taken Elle from herself. 

To be unmade. To be brought to a place inside and forced to face the depths of your own despair, violence, and depravity. And to be shackled there. Left alone with only the worst parts of who you never meant to be.

Loki shook himself, realizing Elle had begun speaking again. “It was one of the first things I tried. I’m glad I did, you know? Just a little, locked in my room. God, I didn’t come out for a week.”

“A week?”

“Like I said, I couldn’t exactly take care of myself, and I had to wait for it to burn out of my system. I hadn’t quite perfected my sip rule then. I couldn’t shake it, and it wasn’t safe to look for help. It was misery. Just an endless stretch of misery.”

He filled in the gaps easily enough. That meant she had most likely barely eaten or slept. She had done everything in her power to keep herself locked up, had chosen pain (and punishment, possibly, for hiding from the Grandmaster) rather than run to the arms of someone to whom she could not have truly consented. She may have injured herself, and in doing so had kept herself safe, had kept anyone else from harming her. 

He could not blame her. In this regard, they were not so different. He found himself wanting to say as much, simply to acknowledge that he understood. That he knew what it was to choose an agony of one’s own creation rather than be subjected to the sadistic pleasures of another. 

Elle tossed him a broken half-smile, surely meant to disarm the situation, to take the venom out of the gravity of her revelation: that she was in very real danger here, more than he had allowed himself to understand. And yet she had survived. No, not only had she survived, she had kept him from the very fate she’d managed to outrun. Perhaps it _was_ only for her own benefit, and perhaps it was all part of some clever deception taught to her in a ridiculous S.H.I.E.L.D academy. 

Even so, she was stronger than he’d given her credit for. 

He opened his mouth, not entirely sure what he was going to say, when a sharp knock echoed through the room. They exchanged quick glances, Elle moving toward her door, nodding as Loki exited back to his own room. The Grandmaster had come to collect them.

Loki closed the passage between his room and Elle’s just as the knocking on his own door began. He swung it open, forced to begin his own charade anew.

“My king.” Rezh’s voice was honey and silk, her dress more gauzy promise than fabric, accentuating her curves and making her look nothing short of regal.

It was a shame he was in no mood for her. He wanted to undo this, to go back in and stand beside Elle. To learn and listen.

To make sure that harrowed look disappeared from her face. One he had seen in the mirror so often after his release from Sanctuary.

“My dear.” His voice hid his disappointment, barred behind a smile he did not truly feel. “What a delightful surprise.” 

She took his hands in two of her own while the second set wrapped gently around his elbows, leaning in to kiss him on each cheek. “The Grandmaster recommended I show you around Sakaar today, and how could I refuse the pleasure of your company?”

_Damn._

He swallowed his irritation and forced a stuttering laugh. It was far from ideal, but he must play along for the moment. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you.” She slid two arms over his, her skin impossibly warm. There was already a slightly darker flush to her cheeks, her pupils wide. He wondered which of the aphrodisiacs she’d already indulged in.

Rezh tugged him into the hallway, where the Grandmaster tossed them a faint smile. He was already talking to Elle, leaning in to cage her against the closed door and dragging his index finger along her chin. A bolt of rage, bright and unexpected, stabbed through Loki’s chest, crackling behind his ribs in angry snaps of electricity. His own memory tore at him: the surge of bitter revulsion, of burning contempt, as Thanos’ hand gently fisted his hair. Nearly tender. The Titan was always at his worst when he began not with breaking nor tearing, but with softness. Always a precursor before the worst of the pain. 

Loki watched the firm line of Elle’s jaw, the aversion of her eyes but the resolute stillness in her body as the Grandmaster’s hands found her hips, pulling her to begin walking beside him. “...quick and easy, and then we’ll take a walk. You’d like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart? When was the last time I took you outside?”

“A couple of weeks ago, I guess…” She cast a furtive glance at Loki before she was pulled away, her mask firmly in place. 

Loki moved to follow, only to be stopped by Rezh. “Ah, best leave them to it today. You and I are on our own this morning. The Grandmaster has business with his human.”

Loki allowed himself to be pulled in the opposite direction, though he cast a quick glance back over his shoulder. 

He did not care for this. Not in the least.

“Did I hear correctly? Does he not permit her outside alone?”

Rezh stifled a giggle, leaning into him more heavily. He could all but feel her pulse jumping against his skin.

“Scandalous, isn’t it? For a ruler to be so devoted to one little thing?” She turned, pressing her breasts against his arm. “Besides, he can’t have her out on display now, can he? The humans here are _very_ popular at the festivities. We have two other females and one male, and they’re always in high demand when they’re brought in. Knowing that little Elle is the newest human in the Grandmaster’s menagerie, and untouched at that? Not everyone is respectful of the Grandmaster’s claim to her, I’m afraid. Besides, have you ever been with a human?”

He shook his head. “I cannot say I have.” Not even during his hunting trips to Midgard with Thor, so many years ago now. Those had been business matters, times for either diplomacy or brotherly bonding. _Not that it had stuck_ , he thought bitterly. But still, it was the truth. He’d heard stories, of course, had witnessed his fair share of their behaviors, but only as an observer. He had never taken a human as a lover.

“Oh, you _must_. What they lack in durability they make up for in warmth and sensitivity. Their skin is deliciously delicate, my king, well worth the restraint it takes to be gentle with them. I have been with all three of the free humans and there is nothing quite like it. They are so receptive to _everything_ you give them. And the _sounds_ they make! You will find exquisite pleasures beyond your wildest dreams on Sakaar, and I assure you, a few of them you will find in the skin of a human.”

Her breath was coming quicker now, her eyes dark and glistening. She stopped suddenly, pulling him outside into an enclosure with a large, open pool. A ring of abrasively orange sand gave it the look and feel of a beach captured in a toy bottle. The space was studded with little cabanas of chrome and red gauzy fabric, pleasured sounds coming from every corner. A knot of Sakaarans had taken over the pool, looking up hungrily at Loki and Rezh. Loki hesitated, but then Rezh’s hands were on him all at once, tugging at his leathers as she pulled him into a private cabana.

“Though I hope you’ll also find a few in _mine_.”


	9. Keeping Up Appearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elle appreciates Loki's presence a bit more than she thought she would. It makes his absence all the more distracting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! Happy weekend! Some good news and bad news: The good news is you're getting two chapters today. Yay! The bad news: this is because I have a couple big projects at work this coming week and I don't foresee a lot of time to write and edit, so my next update won't be until March 20. I hope you'll come back and see Elle and Loki's continuing struggles with feelings, truth, and trust then! :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying this journey as much as I am. 
> 
> Chapter warnings: More non-con touching, panic attacks, violence and wounds

* * *

Elle needed to stop fidgeting. It was poor form, she knew, and it would only invite the Grandmaster to keep touching her. She’d had enough of that today, thank you. Smoothing her dress, she squared her shoulders and took a breath. She’d done this so many times, it shouldn’t be a big deal. It _wasn’t_ a big deal. 

But it was. 

Because Loki was here, but he wasn’t _here_. Rezh had run off with him, pupils blown out, in a dress that made promises that only four-armed goddesses could keep. _He_ hadn't been dosed, but _she_ had definitely taken something. And who was going to refuse a breathy, beautiful, begging warrior queen?

 _He’ll probably be busy for the rest of the day_. 

Elle’s lips pursed of their own accord, the thought acrid and mean. It was much more bitter than it should have been; she knew that. It did nothing to lessen the sting. 

Because damn it, she could really use his help right now. Why had she wasted so much time on aphrodisiac education? Why hadn’t she told him about _this_ _?_ He had magic! _Real_ magic! And he could _actually_ tell when someone was lying. 

_Damn it, Loki, did you really have to disappear at the first opportunity?_

She folded her hands in front of her and stepped forward, drawing up even with the Grandmaster’s armrest. She caught his grin just before his hand curled out lazily to stroke the fabric along her outer thigh. Topaz, quietly impatient with the Grandmaster’s distractions, rolled her eyes from the other side of his throne, but Elle acknowledged neither of them. The Grandmaster liked her still and Topaz liked her silent, and she had learned how to appease them both when the situation called for it. 

And the situation most certainly called for it. Already the tension bunched like a fist between her shoulder blades. _Get your act together, Elle. You’ve done this by yourself plenty of times._

She just… wished she didn’t have to. Loki may have been dangerous back on Earth, but his presence here took the edge off. He was at least another person who didn’t want to be here, and that was proving far more comforting than she'd expected.

 _Don’t get attached_ , she scolded herself. _Means to an end, remember? Off Sakaar, back to Earth, and a long, long explanation to Director Fury._

The Grandmaster gave one loud, definitive clap, startling her from her thoughts, and the room burst into a blur of motion and color. Guards rushed to their places, swinging opening the giant chrome doors and ushering in today’s Scrappers. 

Elle bit down on the inside of her cheek. Just once, hard enough to make her wince. She had to focus.

Her host leaned forward with a dazzling grin as the first Scrapper of the day made his way into the room. He was a giant, lumbering in with a sluggish confidence as his captives pulled against their thick metal harnesses. It didn’t do them any good—this Scrapper was a literal beast. His captives might as well have been trying to pull free from a steel pillar. The Grandmaster was, predictably, delighted. “Scrapper 910, hello hello! What have you brought for me today?”

Elle watched impassively as the interaction unfolded. 910 offered up three bodies for fodder. They were spirited, but small. They'd never make it through the preliminaries, would never face the Hulk, but they would put on a good show judging by the way they hollered and pulled against their restraints. They weren’t like any creatures Elle had seen before—their bodies sharp, severe, and made of bone—but that was far from uncommon here. The universe was a vast place and Sakaar took in castoffs from every corner, after all. 

When it came to the subject of payment, Scrapper 910 requested an additional 500,000 units for damages to his ship. “On account of…” He gestured to his captives’ sharpness. “Lots of holes in my walls.”

The Grandmaster gestured for her to lean down, and she obeyed. “What do you think, sweetheart? Is he trying to pull one over on me or what?”

910 was relatively humanoid. He had thick, dark fur, and a rather lupine face, but he was built much like a man. Elle couldn’t tell if he scratched at his neck from the discomfort of his fur, which was matted with sweat, or if he was lying. 

She watched his eyes instead. He wasn’t blinking rapidly. There was no quick aversion of his gaze. None of the signs she’d been trained to look for. In humans, anyway. 

_Plus, it’s a reasonable request. Not an astronomical amount of money, and the damages are plausible, given how the captives are built._

_The truth, then. Probably_.

Elle shook her head. “No, Grandmaster. His aura is calm. I sense no dishonesty from him.” 

He hummed in approval. “Good. Topaz, let’s pay the man and keep the ball rolling.”

The morning dragged. Elle was used to days like this, but she was impatient today, antsy. Having to be this version of herself was uncomfortable, tight, like a cracked skin she couldn’t quite shed. Talking to Loki, even for a little while, had been… well, freeing. Being able to openly voice her distaste for Sakaar, to talk about what she’d learned here—to anyone else, maybe it would have felt insignificant. But the simple act of giving voice to what had happened here, even to Loki, struck hard against the flint she’d built up around herself, igniting little orange sparks of hope.

_Stupid, stupid hope._

It had just been so long since she’d been able to talk to someone! An escape was probably still a ways out, especially if Loki felt the need to dose himself with aphrodisiacs as she had, but still! There was _possibility_ now! It took all her power not to start squirming again. She wanted to go, to plan, to organize! 

_But I’m here, and Loki’s off with Rezh._

Disappointment returned as a sudden weight pressing in her chest. She took a quick breath, trying to shove it away, only to have it sink deeper, lodging just beneath her ribs. 

_Don’t get attached. It’s just a job. Think of it as one big job, and nothing else. Besides, who cares what they're up to? Not everybody has a switch, remember? Hookups are normal, especially here. It’s none of my business, anyway._

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth, willing her attention back to the dealings. The Scrappers continued to arrive and depart. Elle gave her opinions quietly, only speaking when spoken to. The stakes were lower here than at the orgies; if she accused anyone of lying, they were usually just denied additional compensation. No one was getting melted because of her today. It helped that she’d guessed correctly enough times so that many of the Scrappers knew who she was by now, knew not to ask for any credits they hadn’t earned. Still, there was always the possibility that she could be accused publicly, that a Scrapper would call her powers into question, would tell the Grandmaster she was wrong and bring her whole carefully-crafted deception crumbling down. 

She swallowed hard. It was always a possibility, in everything she did. 

As she’d told Loki: _not if, but when._

She cast a glance at the Grandmaster, who drummed his fingers on his armrest. 

_He’s impatient. Seeing so many Scrappers today. Something’s definitely going on. Is he getting ready for a party? His birthday isn’t coming up yet, is it?_

All at once the energy in the room shifted, became electric. A figure moved to the doorframe, casting a long, lean shadow across the floor. The other Scrappers thundered out their greetings, forcing their marks to their knees in an unbridled show of dominance. Those who already had their obedience disks knelt quietly or crashed to the ground howling. The object of everyone’s affection entered with a swagger and a grin, silver hair pushed away from silver eyes. He was deeply tanned, with a latticework of living gunmetal mesh running from the base of his throat to rest just beneath his left eye. Dressed in the rust-red armor of the desert-waste Scrappers, heavily armed, tugging along his captive with little effort. His teeth were an unnatural, beaming white, just a fraction too sharp. As he moved toward the throne, light winked off the metal woven through his face.

Elle’s stomach lurched, imploding into a painful knot as her palms went clammy, fingers beginning to shake. Her chest was too light, too empty, air seeming to move through her lungs rather than filling them. It was a miracle that she kept her chin up, but the cold shock of adrenaline sent a harsh tremor through the bunched muscles in the backs of her legs, ricocheted down through her marrow into the soles of her feet, curling her toes with the instinct to _run_. 

_Don’t. Don’t move._ _Don't let him see._

The Grandmaster sat up in his seat, a languid, gravelly laugh on his lips as he spread his arms wide. “219, you _devil!_ I haven’t seen you in _ages!_ Where’ve you been hiding, my friend?” 

Scrapper 219 gave a blinding smile, dragging his newest catch to kneel between him and the Grandmaster. “Oh, here and there, Grandmaster. Here and there.” 

The poor creature had been beautiful once, before it was bound and burned. What once may have been jewel-toned skin was faded from dirt and lack of sunlight, ragged around the wrists from the friction of bindings. It was muzzled, a thin stream of ink-dark blood winding from the flat of its nose. It kept its head carefully trained downward, eyes low. The skin around its obedience disk was charred and inflamed, painful to look at.

Something in Elle’s chest split for the creature, a quick, sharp tear, blade through paper. She wondered if she’d looked quite so broken when 219 brought her in. 

Knew full well that she had. 

219 patted his captive on the back, making the poor thing wince. “Been exploring the outer rim of Sakaar, digging through the desert landfills out that way. Lots of fighters and food out there these days.”

Those silver eyes slid to lock on Elle. His gaze skittered over her, down her body and back up again, coaxing bile to the back of her throat. The Grandmaster caught the look, a low, hard chuckle uncurling from his throat while his fingertips found her thigh once more. _Gloating_.

“And you caught a treat. What _is_ this treasure you’ve brought me today? Not a human.”

“Nah, no humans in a while. Sadly. Know how much you like ‘em. Can’t say I blame you.” That blade-bright smile flashed to Elle. 

_Don’t. Don’t give him anything._

219 finally dropped his gaze, looking down almost affectionately at his captive. “He may not be human, but this one'll keep you entertained. This is a Sed.”

“Sad?”

“Nossir, Sed. Hasn't given me his name. _Did_ give me a hell of a runaround, that’s for sure. Strong, fast, clever. Should give you a damn fine show against your—”

Suddenly, one of the side doors flew open, letting in a high squeal cushioned by breathy giggles and low, seductive murmurs. Rezh and Loki stumbled in, disheveled and grinning. The entire room turned to look at them, many offering whistles of approval.

Relief and rage tore through Elle simultaneously, a terrible spike of feeling that left her skin hot even as she shivered. Having 219’s attention moved away from her was like a boot being removed from her throat. But the sight of Loki, carefree and smiling and flirtatious while she had to perform her obedience… she fought down a choked growl, drawing that acidic pain back into her throat. _Of course._

“Well, well, speaking of a damn fine show.” 219 turned to throw an appreciative leer their way. “Howya doin’ Rezh?”

The woman straightened with a wide grin, smoothly brushing her hair away from her face with one hand. The other three remained attached to various parts of Loki. His neck. His hip. His wrist. 

_None of which he’s trying to pull away from._

No, he looked completely calm, a smug little smirk on his face as he silently appraised the Scrapper.

“Fine, 219.” Rezh looked down at the Sed, blinking slowly. “New haul?”

“New haul.” 219 raised his eyebrow at her, eyes flickering to Loki. “New haul?”

“New _friend_.” She patted Loki’s chest, eliciting a low hum from the Asgardian that made Elle’s stomach go tight and sour. Then, realizing they’d interrupted, Rezh turned toward the throne. “I’m so sorry for the disruption, Grandmaster. We weren’t expecting so much company today.” The Grandmaster waved her away with a good-natured smile, and with a barely-concealed smirk, she dragged Loki off to the side of the room. 

Anger blistered Elle’s lungs, breath tight and erratic. _This is why you don’t get attached. This is why—_

But then Loki caught her eye. 

It was subtle, so subtle she may have missed it if she wasn’t already glaring at him. He turned from Rezh’s grip, angling his face toward Elle, dipping his chin just a fraction. That smug smirk fell away easily, betraying the emptiness of the expression, as his lips pressed into a small line. There was a gentleness in his eyes, at odds with the careful, controlled tension in his shoulders. Loki’s eyebrows barely rose, barely furrowed in the center. To anyone else, the expression was nothing more than shadow. But she saw it, saw the concern there as his gaze flicked to Scrapper 219 and then back to her. 

Elle blinked, the anger in her lungs fizzling away, replaced by a soft tug of surprise. She knew that look, had seen it from the field agents when they got back from missions when they were bandaged and all that was left was the memories of whatever terror they had faced: Not _Are you alright_ , but _How bad is it?_

Air clotted in her chest, suddenly too tight to breathe. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. But he saw, chin lifting in acknowledgement as he turned his attention back to the scene before them. His gaze went hard again when it left her, mouth curling back up at the corners, as if slipping on a mask.

It happened so quickly, just a moment, maybe two. But Elle felt it as if it shifted the very ground she stood on.

A reminder. He was performing, too. His disappearance, like her presence in the throne room, was part of it.

Once he was done staring at Rezh, Scrapper 219 turned back with that same lazy, infuriating grin. “Anyway, this Sed here should give you a good show in the arena against your Champion. Put up quite the fight on me. Get ‘im healed up and he’ll be ready to go. Why don’t we call it an even twelve mil.”

“Done! Your merchandise is always worth the investment, 219.” The Grandmaster punctuated his statement by dragging his hand up to Elle’s hip, grinning as he watched 219’s eyes track the movement. 

“Hm. Your clairvoyant _is_ looking a mighty sight this morning,” the Scrapper drawled. He shook his silvery hair away from his eyes as he squeezed the back of the Sed's neck. Though was the captive who winced, Elle remembered vividly the feel of his unforgiving hands on her own throat. 

“She certainly is. One of the better finds you’ve made, that’s for sure.” They shared a harsh laugh between them, making her blood burn in her ears. She thought she saw Loki shift in her periphery, but she couldn't bring herself to look. She didn't want to see his face as she was so openly objectified. 

The Scrapper tilted his head. “Stings a bit, though, seeing my handiwork undone. Took me long enough to get that disk on her, and you just went and took it out like it’s nothing.”

The Grandmaster laughed, genuinely entertained. “Oh, no need for that here, you know that. None of my humans were disked for long.” He shook a finger at the Scrapper, feigning admonishment. “Not sure what you did for processing, but by the time you brought them in, they were nothing if not ready for a little calm and obedience. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” His hand skirting to caress her lower back made her want to scream, to drive the sharp of her knuckles into the hollow of his throat. But Elle knew better; she controlled her body if nothing else. She hummed in quiet acquiescence, knowing she wouldn’t be able to hide the disdain in her voice. 

“I just bag ‘em, friend. Keepin’ ‘em in line’s your job.” 219 rolled his shoulders, flashing another sharp grin. “Seems like you have the better job.”

The Grandmaster laughed again, waving in his processing team to take hold of the Sed. “Can’t argue with that, 219. Let’s get you paid up for today, shall we? Don’t be a stranger. Come back for the festivities this time, you know we love having you.”

The Scrapper gave a little salute as his captive was escorted away, offering a quick bow to the Grandmaster before pausing to toss Elle a private wink. “See ya around, hellkit.”

As soon as he was out of sight, Elle’s tension snapped, sending up a surge of memories. 

_Shrieking stars and a terrible purple shock of light._

_Crashing on Sakaar, shoulder crunching as it dislocated on impact._

_The Chitauri weapon cracking beneath her, watching its fuel, her only way home, bleed out into the dusty soil._

_Lungs burning, heart hammering so hard it drummed nausea straight through her. Bolting as fast as her muscles would allow across the landfills, zigzagging like she’d been trained to do, hurtling over debris and the carcass of some decaying animal. And behind her, a crawling laugh, the fwip and crack of an electrified net just barely missing her legs._

_A near-hit made all the more heart-shattering when he’d rounded out from behind a crashed ship just ahead of her, tackling her to the ground. Thrashing. Screaming. Bashing her fist against his occipital bone, hand slipping to carve open her palm on the wiry mesh in his face. He’d shaken off her blow, pinned her, took the time to return her punch with one of his own. When she was stunned and still, he jammed the disk into her neck with a cocky grin. Then all she knew was fire._

The memories dragged with them phantom sensations of pain: the electric flame in her neck, the sharp throb of his fist meeting her jaw. Her knees went rubbery, head starting to swim. Body hot and shaky, stomach beginning to burn. She fumbled herself to the ground, barely registering that the Grandmaster had joined her on the floor. “Hey, hey now, sweetheart, what’s happening? You okay?”

Ringing in her ears, a high, metal whine, as her body dissolved into static, like blood returning to a sleeping limb. Her teeth began to chatter, skin tight and sore all over. Her forehead and the small of her back were damp. 

“I-I need some air.”

“Not right now, sweetheart. I have more business to take care of, and I don’t have time to take you outside.”

“Please, Grandmaster, I need—”

“I can take her.” Loki approached slowly, did not bend to her. He simply came to rest off to her side. He sounded so calm, as if he was trying not to add to her distress. “You have business, Grandmaster. I can take her out for a bit, get her settled.”

The Grandmaster craned his head around, watching his subjects as they fidgeted, all eager to continue their trades. “Yeah, all right. Use this door here, to the left. No further than the gardens, I don’t take her outside the walls.”

“Of course, my friend. Here.” Loki’s hand appeared in her periphery, palm up. He did not reach for her, did not force, as if he knew the feel of unwanted contact would send her further into this spiral. He simply waited for her to take his hand. 

Blinking back the sudden sting of tears, Elle finally slid her hand over his. His fingers closed slowly, wrist tensing, not to draw her forward, but to serve as support while she pulled herself up. Once she was on her feet, Loki nodded to the Grandmaster, moving so he was at her side. He did not push; simply held her steady, his fingers firm and cool against her own. She let him guide her out of the throne room and into the garden, staring vacantly ahead. She did not let go of his hand.


	10. Breathing Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elle and Loki take a moment to regroup. An unexpected request catches Loki off guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 9 and 10 were originally planned as one massive chapter, but with the tones and goals of each section shifting, it felt cleaner to break them in two. Still, this moment was important to tell from Elle's POV, so we're not switching back to Loki quite yet. He'll have plenty of thoughts to share once we're back in his mind, not to worry :)
> 
> Chapter warnings: More panic attacks, implied consensual sexual content

* * *

Elle and Loki walked in silence, surrounded by ornate arrangements of stone and squat, prickly plants that exploded with needles and achingly bright pink flowers. The garden smelled like dust and honey, the mingling of sand and pollen. The twin suns poured down their thin, golden light, catching in her eyes as they had when she’d run from Scrapper 219 so many months ago. It made her head ache, curdled her stomach, kept her breath coming in frantic, uneven gasps. “C-can we sit in the shade?”

With a curt nod, Loki steered her toward a bench beneath a gargantuan metal tree, its trunk assembled from roughly woven pillars of heated steel. It was composed of harsh angles that hurt to look at. Its canopy wasn’t its own, but was rather made up of hundreds of sharp, spindly plants grown together in netted pots of dry soil, giving the thing an emaciated, angry look. It cast shade in the shape of claws, digging into the earth; Loki drew Elle into it, helping her sit and taking his place beside her.

“Elle, I need you to look at me.”

She did not. 

“Elle.” His voice was low, firm but gentle. His free hand rose up to cup her cheek, stopping just shy of making contact. That sliver of distance pressed against her as he might have, a cold, soothing balm, making her shiver. A soft flex of his fingers encouraged her to turn her head toward him, finally drawing her gaze. 

“Good. Watch my chest. Breathe with me.”

She managed a jerky nod, eyes locked on the center of his sternum. She watched as it rose and fell in deep, even pulls, listened to his breath, the soft, rhythmic sound of it as it wrapped around her. She matched it, inhaling when he did, holding for a moment, before exhaling with him. The whining in her ears gradually began to subside, her limbs becoming less like static and more solid, though now heavy from the weight of spent adrenaline. Slowly, slowly, panic ebbed, sending out little shudders through her limbs as the last of its tendrils pulled away. 

She closed her eyes and took a breath of her own, a deep gulp of air, letting it sit for a moment before releasing, deflating a bit with it. When she opened her eyes again, she looked up, managing a small nod and a dry swallow.

“Thank you.”

He offered a nod, only then lowering the hand that rested so near to her cheek. Only then untangling his fingers from her own. He moved carefully, with a gentle precision that seemed almost hesitant. 

Loki was the first to break the silence. “Who was that man?”

“Scrapper 219,” she managed, voice strained. His title caught in her throat, making her wince. “He’s the one who brought me in. I… have a hard time, when he comes around.”

“Traumatic memories often have this effect. Did he harm you?”

She lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “No more than he hurt anybody else.” 

This answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. He shifted in his seat, jaw working. “That does not mean what he did was insignificant. What was this disk he spoke of?”

She frowned for a moment, watching his face carefully before blinking away her confusion. “Right, you came in on your own. Obedience disks keep new captives in line. Scrappers tag us with them when we’re brought in.” She pulled her hair away from her neck, lifting her chin to expose the small circular scar just over her pulse point, a thin ridge of silvery-pink tissue. “If you act out or do anything they don’t like, they… shock you. It’s all fire and electricity, shooting through every nerve.” She gave a watery laugh. “Probably the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

Loki raised his hand slowly, his fingertips ghosted just over the scar, still not quite making contact. As before, the fraction of distance felt weighted, meaningful, like a touch in and of itself. “How long were you made to wear this disk?”

“Three months.”

“And how many times was it used against you?”

“Twice. The first time when Scrapper 219 brought me in, and the second when… well, after I came out of my room when I took Shine. The Grandmaster wasn’t too thrilled that I’d hidden from him. After that, once he trusted I wasn’t running off, he had it removed. It was after…”

_Burning flesh, liquified gore, a choked, unspeakable scream._

She cleared her throat, chin dipping toward her chest. “After one of the orgies. I had a chance to run, and I didn’t take it. He took that as a sign of my allegiance, I guess. I’ve been a free-range captive since then.” She swallowed hard, shuddering, “They’ll never get another one on me, I promise you that. I’d rather die.”

She looked up to find Loki watching her, his gaze steady, that cool meadow green of his eyes such a sharp contrast to the harsh sunlight all around them. _Like spring_ , she thought distantly. _A cool spring morning._ But there was something else in that stare, something hidden, betrayed by a tension in his jaw and a sadness in those eyes. Looking at him like this, it was like leaning out over a vast, dark lake, its surface still and calm; unaware of how far down the darkness went. What might be waiting in the depths. 

Elle pulled her lower lip between her teeth, biting gently. “What about you? You seem to have experience getting through panic attacks. Where’d that come from?”

A small sound, almost imperceptible. His breath, catching in his chest. A flash of fire in his eyes as he settled back in his seat, pulling away to stare out at the garden. As if collecting himself, she thought. This time, his distance felt empty, intentionally cold. It stabbed a thin needle of desperation through her, though she couldn't quite say why. She just wanted him to come back, away from whatever ledge his mind had taken him to.

“You most likely saved yourself by choosing not to run,” he said passively, ignoring her question altogether. “From what I’ve seen, there are nothing but pitfalls on this planet. It truly is a wonder you’ve lasted as long as you have with minimal damage.”

She hummed quietly. “I guess.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, Loki watching the garden, and Elle watching Loki. It was so strange, the way he navigated this place. Like her, but not. Guarded, but showing these moments of kindness. Of _care_. How much of it was an act, she wondered. Which of his actions were performance, and which were real? Was his concern real? His obvious discomfort over the aphrodisiacs—specifically, over the idea of being drugged, of _her_ being drugged… was that real? Was he this more levelheaded, serious man before her, the one who knew the intricacies of panic attacks? Or was he really the grinning, breathless version of himself, the version he was with Rezh?

_Rezh!_

Elle surged forward suddenly, scooching closer to get a better look at Loki’s face. She pressed her face in mere inches from his, crowding him as she hovered close enough to feel his breath ghosting her cheeks. His eyes narrowed, lips parting as he recoiled. “Is there something you _need_ , little mortal?” He was no doubt trying to sound gruff, but his tone wavered. If anything, he sounded taken-aback. She'd surprised him.

“Your eyes…”

He blinked. “What of them?”

“Huh.”

He brought up a hand, fingertips resting just beneath his eye. “What? What was that sound for?” He pressed around, feeling for a flaw, a wound, _something_.

“They’re normal.”

_Hey, he hasn’t made that exasperated face in a little while._

“And why _wouldn’t_ they be?”

“Well… you disappeared with Rezh. When you left, her eyes were all…” Elle widened her own eyes for effect. “She’d definitely had a dose of something before picking you up, and you were gone for most of the morning. I'm just checking your eyes to make sure anything you got up to today wasn’t chemically-coerced.” Elle paused, gesturing up and down at Loki’s still-disheveled hair clothes with a flick of her wrist. “I mean, it's none of my business _what_ you got up to, but she _clearly_ made a mess of you.” She clicked her tongue and shrugged.

Loki sat up straighter, shooting her yet another of his impressively dramatic eye rolls. “The woman has four arms and a strong grip. _Of course_ I’ve been left disheveled.” He started combing his fingers through his hair, a little self-consciously, she thought. He easily brushed the tangles from the shining raven curls, giving his head a little shake that caught the sunlight _just so_. 

_Huh._

As he finished fixing himself up, his gaze became unreadable, though Elle could have sworn there was a flash of something bright there. Something of a challenge. “You... you're prying. You want to know what happened this morning." He set free a brusque laugh as she desperately started shaking her head. "Oh, but you do! And you sound _incredibly_ judgmental for such an easily-breakable being, are you aware of that?”

“Do not! I was just stating facts—”

“That was _quite_ a tone for a mere statement of fact.”

“There was no _tone_ , it was an _observation_.” She threw herself back against the bench, crossing her arms. “You know, you should make sure you have a prevention fritter next time you run off. Rezh takes care of herself, but who knows who else might be—”

“You're correct mortal, it _is_ none of your business. But there is no need for any preventative fritters. Rezh indulged in me, but I did not indulge in her.”

This time Elle let slip a hard bark of laughter. It startled her, left an odd pain in her throat. When was the last time she laughed out loud? It felt like she’d discovered some old, forgotten door deep inside her, gone rusty around the hinges, and tore it open. She nearly brought a hand to her chest at the feel of it, but realized quickly that would make her look scandalized, and she definitely couldn't have that.

“So she left you disheveled but you didn’t indulge?” Oh, she hated herself as soon as the question was out of her mouth! It sounded so petty, so jealous! When did a simple check to make sure he hadn’t been drugged turn into her caring who he had sex with?

_It’s none of my business! Besides, Loki’s pretty and all but… Ugh, is it more pathetic or less that it’s not the idea of sex I’m jealous of? It’s the intimacy. The closeness. I miss the quiet afterwards, Josie’s hands in my hair…_

He shook his head at her. “You are _bold_ demanding such information from a king. And a _god_ , I’ll remind you. But as it appears to _bother_ you so deeply, and since you are not _blind…”_ He gestured pointedly to his thigh.

“Oh. _Oh._ ”

Much like the velvety cushions used at the orgies, Loki’s trousers did nothing to hide the evidence Rezh had left on him. 

“That’s… wow.”

“Yes, she was most enthusiastic. And _grateful_ , as I knew she would be. I do know how to navigate these situations, Elle, give me some credit.” With a look that said _how-dare-you-underestimate-me,_ with one cocky eyebrow up, he reached into some hidden shirt pocket and presented her with a smooth, cylindrical glass tube, illuminated from within with pale blue diodes. 

Elle gasped, eyes wide. Her hands shot out to gently circle his wrist, pulling the object closer to her face. “Loki! Do you know what this is!”

“Oh, I do. Rezh was most eager to give it to me.”

Elle moved to look up at him, unable to contain a crooked grin. “I take back my judginess. Good job with your thigh.”

It almost looked like he was about to laugh, lips twitching off to one side. “And here I had thought you were _not_ being judgmental. We’ll go in a few days, as soon as Rezh’s ship is back from a mild repair.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. The Grandmaster and Rezh will take us on a tour of Sakaar, and we will use that time to look for escape routes.”

 _“Loki!"_ She drew one hand against her mouth, stifling a ribbon of laughter. It bubbled up from the soft place between her lungs, delicate and free in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be in so long. “This is fantastic! I never got a tour! I barely got to see outside the palace once I was brought in. How did you get her to leave you the key to her ship? Did she give you the access code, too?”

He blinked, and it was then that she noticed he was watching her hands, gaze moving between the hand on his wrist and the hand over her mouth. He didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked distracted. He blinked again, seeming to focus. “Just the key, I’m afraid. It’s become a souvenir of sorts.” His nose crinkled, mouth curling into a thin, sheepish smile. “I confess, I did not know it was a key in the moment, and I truly was trying to speed things along to come find you—”

 _“Ugh!”_ Elle jerked away, wiping her hand on her leg. “Don’t let me put your girlfriend’s makeshift sex toy near my face!”

Loki tucked the key back into his pocket with a huff. “Impromptu, not makeshift, do be precise. And she is not my anything, mortal. And I’ll remind you, _once more_ , to watch your tone.”

Sobering suddenly, acting as if she hadn’t heard him at all, Elle turned, her knee skimming his. “Wait. If we’re going on a tour… do you think you can cast a spell on me?”

Silence. 

There was a tic in Loki’s jaw, a subtle lift of his chin as he looked down at her. He pressed himself back into his seat, drawing his knee away from hers. “What kind of spell?”

“A protection spell. If it’s the four of us, I’m sure we’ll be okay. But if anything happens, or if I’m left alone with the Grandmaster, I’d like to know I have a bit of real magic on my side.” She bit her lip, arching her brows. She needed this. Needed _him_. She wasn’t above letting him see that, not when the stakes were so high. “Please?”

The look on his face was so strange. Full of suspicion, and yet tinged with a warmer shade of disbelief. On anyone else, it may have looked a little something like awe. He cleared his throat, gaze dropping to where she’d knitted her fingers together in her lap. “You would trust _me_ to do such a thing?” 

“I’m not giving you free rein or anything,” she countered. “But we’re supposed to be working together, right? There’s no reason not to trust you with a spell. I’m sure you could use this to mess with me if you wanted to but…” Her pause made him look up, eyes searching hers. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, unable to look away. “I don’t know, it doesn't feel like your style. It feels... low. Don’t you think?”

He watched her for a long moment, as if waiting for her to break, to relent and take back her request. When she didn’t, his expression changed, closing off with a derisive smirk. “How confident you are in your assessments, little mortal.”

“I’m a pretty good judge of character when I need to be.” She tossed him a cocky grin that would have looked right at home on his own face. “So, will you do it?”

That strange look again, caught between suspicion and something softer, something far more vulnerable. She didn’t quite believe it was there, but she liked it. It made him look… _Well, more human. Gentle, even. Or at least less like the angry, narcissistic, sociopathic, vengeful god S.H.I.E.L.D. seems to think he is. Sociopathic, vengeful gods probably wouldn’t care about panic attacks, would they?_

_I wonder what else they don’t know about him._

He was quiet for a long moment before sprawling back against the bench to pillow his arms behind his head, bringing one ankle to rest on the opposite knee. “If that is what you desire, mortal, then yes. I will cast a protection spell on you. Not here. Later, when we won’t be seen.”

She all but bounced in her seat, unable to contain an excited grin. She felt light. For the first time in ages, she felt _light_.

She was already looking at the sky, imagining flying high above this place, one step closer to freedom, when Loki glanced at her. She completely missed the dark, incredulous frown that clouded his face.


End file.
